


Destroying stars

by Warmybones



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anxiety, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Galra Keith (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Messages and calls, Mutual Pining, Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Lance (Voltron), Post-War, future smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-27 06:24:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 44,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8390638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warmybones/pseuds/Warmybones
Summary: (11:34) I think a lot about you  Post-war. Lance falls in love with Keith like he swims: desperately and gorgeously. -On hiatus.-





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first klance fic is here! I think it's going to be quite long so please bear with meQ

The Galra empire was gone.

That was Lance’s first thought every time he woke up. It was his standard thought when his anxiety started to eat at him. It was what filled his mind, as relief settled in his chest, when he stood at the edge of the shore, feeling the sand beneath his feet and in between his toes.

The Galra empire was gone, except it wasn’t.

It remained, engraved within them, unable to let them go before clawing at their chests and tormenting their minds. It remained in the way sleep was something elusive at best, and completely missing at worst, in the way nightmares persisted, pursuing them to the edges of their conscience until the only thing they could do was pass out from exhaustion. It remained in the memory of Allura and Coran waving goodbye from the altean castle as the paladins landed on Earth, never to be seen again.

They were gone, just as the lions were, and Lance couldn’t help but feel that the Galras were laughing at him, just like they had done many times before.

  _Poor boy. Look, we took away all you cared for._

And sometimes it felt too real, with Allura and Coran gone and with their team falling apart. The war had managed to bring them together, to form a family with an indestructible bond that had defended the universe through hardships and blood.

Now that the war had ended, it felt like everyone was crumbling apart trying to catch the edges of themselves and put them back together. In consequence, they grew apart, slowly but surely, and Lance couldn’t help but wonder what the point was of running away from something that was inside your mind.

He had felt himself grow cold just as his friends started to run away: when Shiro decided to travel by himself, to breathe and go to places where he would be reminded that it had been all worth it; the panic, the pain, the tears… the blood. When Pidge moved to another country at their mother’s request, to escape the nightmare that had been losing her whole family in space. When Hunk went away to continue his studies in Switzerland, claiming that, even when the war had taken its toll on him, it was the only thing he was good enough and passionate about.

They still talked, from time to time, but it felt sparser as the months went by. Everyone was moving on, or trying to, and Lance felt like a fish out of the water without his team to back him up. He had managed to barely put himself together after a call from Shiro. He had been in Spain, watching the Mediterranean coast and had called Lance to tell him that it reminded him of him, of his playful and loud actions and of the calmness that he had displayed sometimes during fights.

They had talked and Lance had been so glad, so incredibly happy to hear Shiro’s voice once again, to know that he missed him just as Lance did, that when Shiro asked him the question, the shattering of his heart had been more painful than it should have been.

_Are we happy, Lance?_

He was. He was so incredibly happy to be able to see his family again, to play with his sisters and brothers, to dance with his mother in the kitchen as his father recorded everything like the huge photographer nerd he was. To kiss his grandmother goodnight, leaving her knitting on her favourite sofa by the light of the candles. To swim in the ocean and smell the sun on his own skin. He was so incredibly happy, but at the same time, he was not.

There was something huge inside of his chest, a pressure that didn’t seem to want to leave him, to let go and let him breathe properly once again. He had got his family back, but he had lost another one in the process, and he felt like he was stuck in the past, replaying conversations and good moments over and over, fooling himself, thinking all of that would come back some day.

Lance had been on the edge of falling apart and, strangely, he had found solace in Keith. Keith, thousands of miles away from him, completely alone.

Keith, who let his demons eat him away, strip him from everything he loved only to fight them back, to try and get back on his feet. His edges had begun to soften after spending some time on earth, his anger and fury, no longer needed when the war was over, were spent on angrily clawing at his nightmares and unwanted thoughts, his recklessly at battles turned into the kind of recklessly where he got himself drunk and called Lance to talk about something resembling feelings.

_Feelings._

How did they end up like this?

How did _Lance_ end up like this? 

Craving their almost mandatory 5 am calls, their texts, wanting to engrave Keith’s voice on his mind so he would never forget. Wanting to see him so badly he could feel his bones ache.

It was like the universe was laughing at his face.

But, honestly, nothing new there.

 

* * *

 

 

_-Incoming Call-_

_Lance_

“Lance?”

Keith blinked several times, trying to get used to the lighting of his screen, his heartbeat suddenly skyrocketing. He hadn’t talked with the blue paladin since their return to earth, and he couldn’t help the sinking feeling that was starting to take over his stomach. Had something happened to Lance?

There were only harsh and short breaths coming from the other line, and the feeling intensified, sending warnings throughout his whole body, electricity running through his veins, almost as if his body was getting ready for a fight. He knew the feeling too well and he gripped the blankets scattered around him, in an effort to calm himself.

He tried not to think about a cold body standing in one of the healing pods, pale and so _death-like,_ Keith had to suppress the image in his mind harshly. 

“Lance?” he tried again, as he had done before in space, desperately, as the coldness and the darkness of space stared impassive at their pain.

He _despised_ the idea of Lance being in danger or hurt.

In lieu, almost as if reading Keith’s thoughts, Lance snapped out of his reverie, loudly gasping something that resembled Keith’s name before his voice carried away.

“You’re alive,” he sighed, and there was so much relief held there that Keith felt suddenly breathless. It was surreal to talk to Lance like this, to get to hear his voice once again after so much time spent apart.

It was surreal to think that Lance was whispering in his ear through the phone and not screaming in agony inside of his dreams.

“Of course I am,” it was soft, a whisper that was meant to soothe, but something in his voice might have sounded wrong, maybe the rawness of it, from the burning alcohol, because Lance suddenly started apologizing.

“I—Sorry. I just--- I’ll hang up.”

It made Keith’s heart hurt.

“Lance,” he said again and, this time, he savoured it, tasting the name on his tongue, thinking about how he had almost forgotten what it felt like. “Talk to me.”

He felt like a child, trying to tend to his wounds petulantly, trying to soothe the aching and pulsing with the same thing that had caused it. But when it came down to it and Lance’s voice filled his senses through the phone, he couldn’t think of him as the poison that had him ill when the anxiety that had stayed in his chest for months shimmered down with his voice.

Keith relaxed against the blankets, burrowing himself in them as he stared at the sky and listened to Lance narrate his nightmares. Keith had died in this one, apparently, and Lance had woken up so shaken that he had pressed the number without even thinking.

He felt his heart growing tight, full and warm at Lance’s worry, and he had to inhale deeply before going back to reassuring him that he was fine, that they were fine, safe and sound on earth.

It wasn’t the beginning of something, not really. It was a continuation, a second chance, and Keith knew better than to waste it.

 

* * *

 

 

Thinking back on it, Lance should have been embarrassed about calling Keith in the middle of the night to talk about his nightmares. To tell him how he had died, over and over, trying to save him. It was the most recurrent nightmare and he easily forgot that Keith was safe, somewhere far away from him, but safe.

Thinking back on it, he hadn't been thinking. He had acted on impulse, trying to calm the anxiety and terror inside of him that had been trying to strangle him.

Thinking back on it, and with the way his phone flashed brightly with a message, he had no regrets. Not even when Keith's voice would get small sometimes, like a whisper on the other side of the line, almost as if he was scared that someone would find him. It wrecked Lance's heart and so did the calls where the silence was prominent, and their breaths were all he could listen to.

The worst calls --maybe the best-- were the ones were Keith would babble, drunk, spilling nonsense that made Lance's breath catch in his throat. He was a weak boy with a weak heart and a storm inside his veins he couldn't calm down. 

He wondered, as he reached for the phone, if he wrecked Keith too.

(20:01) _It's raining here_

(20:02) _[Image attached]_

Lance studied the photo, the little details that told him about Keith, and smiled. His little apartment, now close to the city instead of in the desert, was bathed in darkness, the only thing keeping it at bay were the candles scattered around and the last signs of light that came from the huge window that was in front of Keith. Lance could see Keith's legs, in sweatpants and tangled around a blanket, resting on the sofa. The TV was to the left, balanced on a pair of huge books, showing a black and white-old movie. Lance snorted and felt the tightness of his chest pull.

(20:04) Looks incredibly nice tbh

(20:04) You're so lucky the temperature dropped over there, i'm jealous

(20:05) _I thought you liked summer?_

(20:05) I do!!! Nothing beats summer but just laying down, curled up with a blanket and listening to the rain is one of the nicest things this planet has to offer

(20:06) Don't fight me on this

(20:06) _I might want to fight you on this_

(20:06) You are always up for a fight, doesn't count

(20:07) _Point taken_

(20:07) _I used to hate the rain, but now..._

(20:07) _I just_

(20:15) Keith?

(20:28) You okay???

(21:23) Keith, i'm seriously freaking out right now

(21:44) _I'm sorry something came up and I have to take care of it_

(21:44) _I didn’t want to freak you out_

(21:45) _Call you later?_

(21:45) Can i ask?

(21:46) _Don't_

(21:46) _Please_

(21:47) Okay, call me when you can

Lance sighed, dropping the phone on his stomach and getting comfortable on his bed. The light was off and the only thing illuminating the room was the warm light from the hallway that managed to sneak in from under door. Lance turned his head to the side, watching his little sister, Maria, curled up against him, sleeping soundly. She looked so soft, so calm like that, her long and brown hair splayed out on the pillow. He caressed her cheek carefully, slowly, counting her freckles like he was counting sheep to get himself to sleep, knowing very well that he wouldn't be able to. She had grown up so much while Lance wasn't there. Everyone had, and it had left him with an aching feeling inside of him, something resembling guilt, perhaps.

Perhaps.

Perhaps he was scared of the normality, of time passing and him not being able to move forward. Perhaps he was scared of Keith, of him never talking about what was going on. It seemed so damn important, all of the things Keith had to take care of, all of the things he had in mind. He had asked from the beginning for Lance not to ask about it, but he was _worried_. His heart clenched painfully at the possibility of losing Keith, not in space with a Galra fleet pursuing them, but here, on earth, without knowing what had happened to him.

 Lance sighed again, willing the panic away, and leaned forward slowly, kissing his little sister's forehead and letting the rhythm of her breath lead him to lighter thoughts. He set his phone on vibrate, for when Keith called, and held it tightly, closing his eyes and imagining a presence inside of his head, a purring that he had engraved in his mind.

Keith didn't call that night.

 

* * *

 

 

(07:43) _I’m okay, don’t worry about me. Sorry I couldn’t call last night, I wanted to hear your voice._

(09:38) Call me when you have time?

(09:40) I want to know you are okay

(10:04) _I am. Trust me?_

(10:30) Always

 

* * *

 

 

It was getting ridiculous, really. It had been ridiculous almost since the moment Keith came barrelling into his life once again, but now it was reaching a pathetic level. And Lance couldn't even control it.

A crush.

It wasn't a crush --words couldn't describe how deeply he felt for Keith--, but he decided to go with that for the sake of his mind. A goddamn crush on Keith Kogane. It wasn't that strange if he thought about it; Keith had saved him from being completely annihilated by Zarkon, had stayed up talking to him for the better part of two months now, had listened to Lance.

Had talked so sweetly to him, Lance had melted on the spot.

It wasn't close to normal, the ridiculous amount of times Lance felt breathless just by seeing what Keith had written or said to him on the phone. Even his family had noticed, and now they laughed at him every time he turned red when he was on his phone.

He groaned, feeling his skin tingle with just remembering Keith's sleepy voice from the night before. He put his hands on top of his head, stretched out and inhaled deeply the salty air, sighing happily when the waves hit his feet. He had been feeling restless for a while now, unused energy filling his body, making him want to turn his brain off for good. His father had caught up on this and here they were, having some quality family time at the beach.

Lance smiled, feeling a knot in his chest come undone, as he watched his father and older sister playing in the water with his younger siblings. He still marvelled at all of this; being able to feel the cold water on his body, being able to taste the salt on his tongue, feel the sun on his skin.

He had been back on earth for a long time, but it still surprised him just how in love he was with it.

Lance inhaled one more time, splashing water with his feet, before walking back to where their little camp was. His mother, Candela, was lying down on a towel, sunbathing with her ridiculous hat on. It was so pink it hurt every human eye in the vicinity, almost every green and red pearl that adorned it was broken, and don't get him started on the golden feather that was glued to the its front.

A hideous thing, if you asked Lance, really.

He snatched it up as he passed her on his way to get his phone and he couldn't help but laugh at her groans.

"Lance, I swear if you don't give me that hat back..."

"Come on, mom, lend it to me for a little while. Doesn't it look great on me?" he added with a little smirk, putting a little show for her, twirling around and hiding his face with the hat as he crutched down in a sensual pose.

Candela snorted as she watched her son with a big smile and a dreamy look in her eyes. She got like that, sometimes, when she thought Lance wasn't looking. But Lance was always looking, and it made his heart hurt just by seeing how much love his mother had for him. It had always been obvious, but after he had returned from space, Candela had started to look at him like he was a miracle, like she couldn't believe he was back with her. He really didn't want to think about how painful it must had been for her, all of those years he had been gone.

"Everything looks good on you, honey. I'm sure Keith would love it," she said, with a devilish smile on her face, and Lance's entire body caught on fire, the blush spreading rapidly through his skin.

"Mom!!" he screamed, hiding his face with the hat and trying to find his phone inside of her bag as rapidly as he could.

He was going to die of embarrassment one day, he was sure of it.

"It's a joke, honey," she said as Lance passed her on his way to his towel, dropping the hat on her stomach softly, before throwing himself onto his spot.

"It isn't," he whispered softly, his pulse beating wildly for a moment when he saw his notifications.

(11:23) _Are you free?_

Lance smiled, checked that his mother was back on sunbathing and laid down on the towel, holding the phone over his head.

(11:24) Yeah, what’s up?

(11:24) _Just wanted to talk with you._

He felt giddy inside, his smile so wide he thought his cheeks might hurt later. He made a sound, somewhere between desperate and happy, and his mother raised her head from the towel, looking at him with an arched eyebrow.

 _“_ Mom, I'm going to _die_ _,”_ he whined, rolling onto his side and curling in on himself, willing his heart to stop spreading warmth into his veins.

(11:25) Anything in particular?

 _"_ Is it Keith?" she asked, but her voice sounded from far away to Lance, as he watched Keith typing.

"Who else?"

(11:25) _Actually yeah_

(11:26) _I walked past a pet shop today..._

(11:26) _And there was a parrot on the storefront_

(11: 26) _It wouldn't stop talking, was driving the people there crazy_

(11:26) _It was just like you_

(11:27) What the fuck Keith???????

(11:27) Are you comparing me to a parrot?

(11:27) I feel so attacked rn

(11: 29) _[Image attached]_

(11:30) ...

(11:30) Actually

(11:32) _See? Told you_

(11:33) Okay, okay, you win this time

(11:33) So it reminded you of me, huh? Such an honour

(11:34) _I don't know what you are talking about_

(11:34) _I think a lot about you_

The message was like a pang against his heart and Lance, caught off guard, choked on his own breath, hearing his own pulse in his ears, the rushing of his blood sweeping all the sounds around him away, leaving him alone with the flutter of his heart and a boy thousands of miles away.  

He willed his fingers to move over the letters, typing with a tremor that found itself echoed in his mind and chest.

(11:39) Really?

_(11:40) Yes_

_(11:41) A lot of things remind me of you, so it’s difficult not to_

(11:41) What kind of things?

Lance knew, _knew_ with a clarity he had never experienced, that if Keith continued down this path he wouldn’t be able to get himself out of this one.

He wouldn’t be able to stop falling over and over again for Keith, even if he tried.

_(11:42) Things you said you wanted or liked, movies, books…_

_(11:43) Sometimes I know what you would say if you were here_

_(11:43) Sometimes when I’m driving across the desert I can’t help but think how much you would like it_

(11:44) I would, incredibly so

God, he could feel his heart exploding inside of his chest, begging him to tell Keith, to spill the truth through his fingers so it could get to Keith faster.

So he did.

At least a little.

(11:45) And I would like you to be here

(11:45) One day at the beach without having to think about you

 (11:46) Because you would be right here

_(11:47) You think about me too?_

_You have no idea_ , Lance wanted to write, _you have no idea how helpless I am._

But he didn’t. He wanted, but didn’t, afraid and in love, finding out just what a coward he was when push came to shove.

Was it like this for everyone? So desperately _torturous_?

(11:48) I do, Keith, a lot, too

_(11:48) That’s… good_

(11:49) Yeah?

_(11:49) More than good_

_(11:49) So… let’s do it?_

_(11:50) One day_

_(11:50) You and me_

(11:51) Is that a threat, mullet? Want our fights to be real?

_(11:51) It’s a promise, Lance_

(11:51) And you never break your promises

_(11:52) I don’t make promises I can’t fulfil_

(11:53) I want to, one day

(11:53) You and me, i mean

_(11:53) I want that, too_

(11:54) Great

_(11:54) Perfect_

_(11:54) And, for the record, I could beat you in a fight_

(11:55) No way

_(11:55) I have done it before_

_(11:56) I have done it many times before_

(11:56) Lies, fallacies, I can’t believe your words

(11:57) I’m the best fighter out there and your cowardly words don’t affect me

_(11:57) But they do_

(11:58) Fight me

_(11:58) I will_

_(11:59) But not the first time we see each other after so long_

_(11:59) Okay?_

(12:00) Okay

(12:00) Just us, nothing else

Lance typed it and knew that Keith would understand. Just them; no façades, no cheerful talking, no _I’m okay_ when they were not, just them, only them, without anything else.

_(12:00) Nothing else_

He was ready to write again, something that was taking form in his brain without it meaning to, but before it could form itself completely he felt a warm hand on his head, tousling his hair with fondness and cutting off any thought he could have had.

 _“_ You coming? _”_ asked Candela when Lance looked up at her, pointing to the water with her head, where all the family was playing together.

She looked good, skin coloured warmly, roused and full cheeks, hair shining brightly underneath the force of the sun. It was a miracle, he thought, comparing the image to the one he had ingrained in his memory, the one where his mother was pale, tired, and so skinny he had thought she was another person. But the _sadness_ , the sadness in her eyes, so deep and profound was what had killed him, guilt flowing inside of his veins instead of blood.  She had always been beautiful, but he preferred her like this, happy, without worries, with her whole family reunited.

It was truly a marvellous sight.

“Yes, in a moment, mommy."

And with that she took off, ruffling his hair one more time and walking to the shore with a spring on her feet. Lance watched her walk with a smile and, when she reached the water, he tore his eyes away and focused them again on his phone.

(12:06) My family is calling me, talk to you later?

_(12:07) Have fun with your family_

_(12:07) I’ll call you tonight, okay?_

(12:07) Yessssssss

(12:07) And thanks

(12:07) Have fun comparing me to parrots

_(12:07) You’re insufferable_

(12:08) ;)

He tossed the phone down then, hiding it with another towel before sprinting to the water, splashing water and making his mother scream when he wrapped his arms around her belly and kissed her cheek soundly.

 _“_ I love you, mommy, _”_ he said, feeling light and warm, like only the combination of water and sun could make him.

Candela smiled, her eyebrows drawing together, almost as if she was ready to cry, but before she could say anything his siblings began screaming for him and, before he even knew what was happening, his sister was on him, holding him tightly and making him laugh loudly, genuinely, before dragging him down into the water.

The water quietened everything, making it muffled and distorted, but he could still hear Candela’s laugh and his father talking to her, could see blurrily the way he took he hand in between his with a soft movement and he smiled, feeling warm inside where the water was cooling his skin.  

 _Thank you,_ he thought, and he didn’t know who he was thanking, only knew that he _was_ , that he was thankful for everything he had in that moment.

Thankful for another chance.

 

* * *

 

_Keith_

_(40:39)_

“It’s too quiet in here without you.”

His voice was slurred and slow, too drunk to even function as Lance heard him struggling to make himself go home, to will his legs to stand, to take the weigh. Keith was drunk, Lance knew, but his voice was so pretty, and Lance kind of got weak on the knees when Keith missed him, heart beating so wildly inside of his ribcage he thought it was going to burst.

“I miss you too,” Lance whispered against the phone, a secret that wasn’t a secret at all if you had eyes, but Lance didn’t mind.

He didn’t mind because, at almost 4 a.m., it felt like he was whispering the key to unlocking the secrets of the universe to Keith, sweetly and softly, and the softness of it all was a pure antithesis to how the blood was roaring in his ears, running through his veins and tightening his heart painfully.

“Why are you so far away? I feel like something has been ripped off me.”

His breath left his lungs suddenly, painfully, Keith’s rough voice sweeping through him like a current, his words so powerful Lance thought he might pass out, welcome the darkness.  

 _Focus, Lance, focus, he’s just drunk_ , _he’s just drunk, he’s just---_

“A leg, maybe?” he replied, choked up, trying to lighten the mood, trying to get away from the topic, but at the same time wishing to continue.

Wishing to hear Keith like that more, wanting to make Keith laugh.

It had been so long since he had heard him laugh.

And it worked, Keith chuckled, something soft and private, nothing like a drunk’s laugh, and Lance felt the smile widening in his face, closed his eyes to enjoy the sound and let it wash over him.

“Get home,” he said, biting his lower lip when he heard Keith trip over something, a metallic sound filling the background.

“I’m _trying_ ,” Keith responded, laughter still present in his voice as he fumbled with his keys and tried to open the door with the phone pressed against shoulder and ear.

He unlocked the door and stumbled blindly into his apartment, his feet aching to lead him to his room, but he closed the door and took the time to lock it, even if he couldn’t understand how keys worked in his state, because he remembered how much Lance had cared about it, how much Lance had begged him to _please lock the damn door before someone comes in and murders you_.

How much he had liked Lance caring for him.

“I’m here,” he said into the phone, softly, because Lance had been quiet for a while and he didn’t want to wake him up if he had fallen asleep.

But the response came quickly and almost shyly:

“Thank you.”

Keith hummed, dizzy, mind in a haze, and finally let his feet lead him into the comfort of his room, where he would be able to pass out comfortably.

“Keith,” Lance’s voice filtered through the phone and he stopped in his tracks, halfway through the kitchen, because Lance was more important than anything else. “Water.”

“Shit,” he said, sighing and, at Lance’s urging, gave in.

He took a water bottle from the fridge and was ready to leave the kitchen when Lance’s voice chirped in once again.

“Pills.”

“Lance, I don’t---“

“ _Pills.”_

Keith didn’t like pills, preferred the pain to go away on his own, but Lance was adamant, always coaxing Keith to take some because _you don’t have to handle the pain, why are you so headstrong?_

If only Lance knew how weak he was for his requests.

So he got them, goosebumps rising in his skin at Lance’s pleased tone

“I don’t want to hang up,” he said, curled up on the sheets, eyelids heavy, consciousness light.

_I don’t want you to go._

“Then, don’t,” Lance said, softly, and it sounded like a lullaby, like something Keith could fall asleep to. He heard Lance settling on the bed, blanket over blanket, and sighed happily. “Good night, Keith.”

“Goodnight, Lance,” he murmured, already slipping in a blissful darkness, Lance’s voice soothing him.

Lance heard Keith practically pass out and didn’t hang up, kept the phone on his ear, listening to Keith’s breathing until his own consciousness failed him and he, too, fell into the darkness with a grateful sigh.

That night, the nightmares left them alone.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter!
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr and Twitter by warmybones, if you want to chat! Thank you for reading!❤❤


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lateness! Real life has been kicking my ass, but I will try to be more consistent with the updates from now on. The fic is going to be waaaaaay longer than I originally thought, seeing how this chapter turned out, so I hope you enjoy!!

The nightmares were getting worse.

They were vivid, so vivid that he could taste the panic, hear it in Keith's voice. He could feel the intent to kill in those hands and could see death shining in yellow eyes. Zarkon was always there when Lance finally succumbed to the tiredness, always waiting for him to fall into the darkness of space created by his mind. Blue was nonresponding, as she had been that time, her presence gone as she floated on space and left her paladin to suffer the same fate. That was when Lance could taste the panic, a metallic taste on his tongue, when he noticed that he was alone, the darkness threatening to swallow him. But then, instead of floating away, he was caught by Zarkon, his heavy weight settling over him as his eyes shone brightly like two stars.

Lance tried to fight, god, he always did, but Zarkon was stronger and bigger, and his large hands curled easily around his neck, crushing it without mercy, making Lance choke on his own fear. He could hear his teammates screaming over the com, giving orders, advices— slow down, Pidge, Hunk, get that ship— unaware of his situation and, when Zarkon slipped his fingers underneath his helmet, trying to tug it lose, he screamed, but only a muffled sound came out of his throat.

The pressure around his neck increased, threatening to snap it, and he let out a choked-up sound, hands flying up to hit Zarkon's face, chest, anything. Zarkon only smiled, curling over Lance, as one hand kept the pressure on his throat and the other kept tracing the end of the helmet, a torturous movement that made Lance want to sob.

And maybe he had at that time, or maybe it had been just Keith's instincts that had made him call out for him over the com, asking him if he was okay. Lance tried to talk, but his vision was fuzzing out, and he had little time left. Time always sped up when he started to feel like that; he could hear Keith's panicked voice over the com, could see a red shadow behind Zarkon approaching too fast for his eyes to comprehend. Could see the clear intent on Zarkon's yellowed eyes.

But Keith was always late and Zarkon always managed to tug Lance's helmet over his head. He always woke up gasping for air, his body on earth but his lungs still in space, not being able to draw air in.  He couldn't make his body understand that he was safe, that Keith had made it in time when he needed him to. That he was fine on earth, alive.

He was sick of it, sick of the nightmares, of being so aware that if Keith hadn't risked his life to save Lance's he would be dead. He was sick of it plaguing his mind every night, of waking up panicked and sick, searching for someone in between his sheets that was too far away from him to even touch.

He was sick, so sick of the tiredness that was settling on his bones with every passing day because he couldn't close his goddam _eyes._ Because he couldn't stop thinking about all the thing that could have gone wrong.

It had been a couple of weeks since the nightmares had become worse, and that Saturday night shouldn't have been any different: waking up in cold sweat, gasping for the air he was lacking and trying to hold onto his conscience by clutching the sheets around him. It shouldn't have been any different, but it had, because his mind had decided to make him aware enough after Zarkon had pulled off his helmet to see him turning around to face the red lion, to face Keith.

He had watched the fight, unable to do anything, and had felt every blow on Red, every scream Keith let out on his very core. Had felt like he had died a second time when Zarkon had torn Keith apart in front of his eyes.

Lance growled, now fully aware of his surroundings, of his own room, but still unable to wash the image away from his mind. He scrambled for the phone with trembling hands and dialled the number with uneven breaths and teary eyes, not even bothering to look at the hour. It ringed one, two three times, and when Lance was ready to cry out his frustration, the call finally got through, making his throat tighten.

"Lance?" Keith sounded sleepy, slurring his name without even meaning to.

 _Alive_ , his brain told him, and relief crashed against Lance just as a sob made its way out of his throat, raw and vulnerable. He heard Keith suck on a breath –just as he had done in his dream before screaming in pain—, the creak of a mattress as Keith adjusted his position before calling Lance's name so softly he thought he might be imagining it.

"Hey, hey," Keith whispered, worriedly, and Lance put a hand over his mouth to hold another sob in. "What's wrong?"

He tried to talk, tried to explain how horrible his nights were, tried to tell him just how badly he needed him to be there. He opened his mouth to do so, but the only thing that came out were sobs and hiccups, pure gibberish that even he didn't know what to make out of.

 “I—I, I c-can’t… K-Keith— “

He hated crying, hated it with a passion that came from not wanting people to worry about him, from not wanting to be seen as weak. But Keith knew he wasn't weak, that crying wasn't a sign of weakness, knew that Lance was trying to stay afloat, just like him. And then, at god knew what hour, with nightmares clouding his vision and with Keith so far away from him, Lance felt he had the right to bawl his eyes out.

“Lance,” the name rolled off Keith's tongue easily, like the wind helping the waves make their way to the shore safely. “Breathe with me.”

“Mmm,” Lance mumbled, unable to say anything else.

“Okay, come on, in…” he inhaled deeply, paying attention to Lance’s trembling breath before exhaling. “And out.”

They repeated the motions one, two, three, four, and way too many times, until Lance could breathe normally, panic settling into something softer inside of his chest, the edge of it now a mere memory washed away by Keith’s encouragement.

“That’s it, Lance, you’re doing great. Another one for me?”

He took another breath, steadily, focusing on the softness of the sheets, on Keith’s voice, on the way everything screamed _home_ at him.

 “Thank you,” Lance whispered, clutching the phone tighter in his fingers when Keith hummed.

His heart skipped a beat then, reminding him that the nightmares weren’t his only problem, and that sleep wasn’t the only thing he was longing for. It was ridiculous, really, to get hung up in how far away they were from each other when they had been light years away from earth, from home, once. It was ridiculous, but he grew furious at the idea of Keith not being close to him, after how distant everything had been in space.

“Better?”

“Yeah,” he said, bringing one of his hands to his face to rest it against his burning skin. “Yeah, it’s just— I-It was a harsh one.”

“Want to talk about it?”

He didn’t. The only thing he wanted to do was forget that his mind was fucked up, to forget about Zarkon, the war, and everything in between. But he needed Keith to know, needed him to tell him that that would never be them again, to assure him that he was safe in every sense of the word.

“It was the one with Zarkon, you know?” he knew Keith did; he knew every single nightmare that had plagued Lance’s dream as well as Lance knew his.

“I do,” the tone was soft, but firm, grounding, and Lance let himself fall back into bed, spreading his long limbs over the sheets.

“I always wake up after the helmet comes off, but… y-you were trying to get to me and when he was finished with me, he tried to kill you too, and I couldn’t wake up, Keith, I couldn’t and, and— “

“Lance, listen to me,” Keith cut him off, velvety voice spilling over the phone, and Lance bit his tongue, inhaling deeply, and letting the air out slowly.

“We are here, on earth, safe. I hit Zarkon with my bayard, I pulled you into Red and I piloted us away back to the Castle,” he said, facts strong and simple, and Lance knew that everything had been much more difficult than that, but he let Keith’s words wash over him, invoking the fuzzy memories of when they were back on the Castle, safe, with the whole team pulling them in for a huge hug.

“I took your helmet off myself when we were inside of Red, Lance. I told you take deep breaths and I asked you to describe anything in the room while I piloted to keep you grounded. Do you remember that?”

He did. The nightmares had always put the worst part of his experience on the front of his mind, but the memories were coming back to him; the way Keith had taken off the helmet carefully and had brushed Lance’s hair back tenderly. The way he had leaned down to touch their foreheads together and told him to just _breathe._

“I do. God, I do.”

“I _saved_ you, Lance. Cling to that, to the relief you felt, the way the oxygen felt in your lungs, I don’t know, anything. I know it’s difficult to keep yourself grounded when your mind is failing you, but I want you to try. I _need_ you to try.”

He closed his eyes, heart on his throat, and thought about that moment, both on the floor inside of Red, terrified out of their minds, with their suits clinging to their skins uncomfortably tight. His eyes wandered from Keith’s shoulder, covered in bright red and white, to his neck, where the curl of his hair was, so incredibly soft looking in his memory he found himself clutching the sheets beneath him harder. And then he tried to see Keith as a whole, tried to focus on his face, right there in his memory, but something was always out of focus; his mouth, his nose, his eyes.

Lance almost sobbed, trying, without success, to remember what Keith looked like, how bright his eyes were, how the curl of his lips lighted up his whole face, how he crunched up his nose when he didn’t like something.

Keith was slipping away from his memories and Lance couldn’t make his own brain stop it.

“Do you do that, too?” he asked, almost sharply, frustration taking over his chest, and when silence responded him, he continued: “Cling to something?”

“I would have gone crazy by now if I didn’t.”

“What— “he swallowed, the sound thunderous in the silence of the room. “What do you cling to?”

“It’s—hm. When I asked you to describe something to keep you with me you described my face. I always think about that. About the way you held onto me,” Keith breathed out, heart skyrocketing inside of his chest. “It grounds me.”

Lance couldn’t breathe. He was staring at the ceiling with widened eyes, hands lax on the phone and chest tight. He grounded Keith, he grounded Keith, he grounded Keith… it felt so surreal and marvellous he thought he might die, right there on his bed. He inhaled sharply, the warmness that spread throughout his whole body trying to drown him.

“Is that… weird?” Keith whispered from the phone, small and vulnerable, and Lance’s heart shattered into pieces, fondness threating to smother him.

“Keith, no,” he said, choked up, closing his eyes tightly and breathing in deeply. “It’s not weird. How could it be? I’m just surprised that it’s me. And happy. Incredibly happy.”

Only after his own words and the silence that took over the other side of the line he realised just how bad that had sounded. He sat up from the bed, as if that would fix the situation, and talked rapidly into the phone, a groan held inside of his throat.

“Wait, not happy that you have nightmares so that you can think of me. That didn’t come up like I wanted it to, god…”

Keith chuckled, the sound rich and warm. It soon became muffled, almost as if Keith was trying to hide it and Lance wondered if he was biting his lip. He sounded exasperated, just like the old days, and Lance would do anything to have him there, lying next to him and looking at him judgingly.

“It’s just…” he continued when Keith stayed silent. “I think about you too. Whenever I need to calm down. But.”

“But?”

“I feel like I’m forgetting you. Sometimes I have to think so hard about what you looked like that It feels like you’re slipping in between my fingers,” he exhaled sharply, feeling the tremor of his skin and deciding to let it all out. "And I'm terrified of that."

"Lance," he murmured with the voice he used to lull Lance to sleep, the soft one that managed to make Lance's toes curl.

"I would have gone crazy by now if it wasn't for you," he continued, because he needed to get it out, needed to lift this weight from his chest." I have my family, sure, but they haven't been through what we have, and the rest of the team is far away, building their lives back up again and I feel like I'm the only one who's being left behind, the only one who isn't able to put his shit back together because I'm too terrified to do so. I... Keith, I don't want to forget."

And then, with a choked whisper: "I _can't_."

"Lance, listen to me, okay?  Nobody has their shit together. Nobody. Not Hunk, not Pidge, not Shiro... Nobody, Lance. Do you think this war isn't going to be with us forever? Whatever we do? It is, because it fucked us up badly. We had the responsibility of saving the universe, we had life or death situations. We almost --died--, for god's sake. That's with us, forever."

Keith took a quick breath and then: "But we learn how to cope. All of us. And we are going to be all right, Lance, I swear on everything dear to me, you are going to be all right."

"How can you say that so easily?" Lance asked, trembling with the force of a hurricane, wondering how could he have misunderstood Keith so hard from the beginning, how had he not treated him as the treasure he was all along.

"Because I know you are strong, stronger than you think, and with a heart too big to be filled with fear," he chuckled, then, a small sound that filled Lance with something like hope. "And because I have you, too, and I feel stupidly reckless knowing that you will be there if I need you."

"I will," he whispered, his skin aflame, his heart beating wildly against his chest. He was so _gone_. "Every time."

He let the silence take over, thinking about Keith's words, about how much they meant to him, to someone who's insecurity came as easily as breathing. He thought about how lost he would be without him and felt a wave of gratitude surging inside of him. 

"Keith."

"Mm?"

"Thank you."

"Any time," he whispered and Lance closed his eyes, a small smile adorning his lips.

He had this.

 

* * *

 

 

The screams of his siblings were what woke him up, but the light filtering through the blinds was what made him groan and roll over on his bed. He had managed to get a few hours of sleep and, even when it hadn’t been enough, it felt impossible to close his eyes and drift away, no matter how much his body hurt and his mind weighed.

He left the tranquillity of his room with a sigh, putting his phone inside the pocket of his shorts, and came down the stairs, shuffling is way to the kitchen. His siblings were on the living room, screaming at the tv excitedly, bouncing up and down as their favourite character appeared on screen. Lance smiled but didn’t make his presence known, walking quietly to the edge of the warm living room floor, where the cold tiles of the kitchen started. He faltered on his steps and stopped at the very edge, his hand coming up to support himself on the wall when he saw the scene unfolding before him.

The light was coming in, painting the kitchen golden and white, making it so bright that Lance had to blink a few times before his sight adjusted and focused on the figure standing in front of the sink. His mother was there, still dressed in her ridiculous pajamas, washing the dishes and humming under her breath to the song playing on the radio. Lance felt something seizing his heart, tightening it and making him inexplicably breathless. It felt beyond comforting to see his mother doing such mundane tasks, happy and relaxed, knowing that she had all her family together.

He inhaled deeply, trying to shove down the flow of emotions that was trying to overwhelm him, and walked with sure steps to where his mother was, wrapping his arms around her from behind. He buried his face on her back and breathed in the familiar scent, the tightness of his chest giving way when she greeted him softly. 

She ushered him to the counter and started preparing his breakfast, continuing to sing as Lance watched her, happiness pumping through his veins at the mere prospect of being able to just watch his mother doing what she loved the most.

His phone beeped just when his mother put a plate full of pancakes in front of him, and he felt torn between slipping his hand in his pocket and staring at letting his saliva coat the counter just by looking at the masterpiece his mother had prepared. His stomach growled and she laughed, open and loud; Lance's favourite.

"¡Llego tarde!" she exclaimed then, watching the kitchen's clock with wide eyes, before rushing out of the kitchen and up the stairs to get changed and not miss her weekly date with her friends.

Lance chuckled, pulling out his phone as he dug into his breakfast. He opened the message without looking the sender as he took a bite of pancake, moaning at the taste before focusing his attention on the screen.

(10:02) [Image received]

_(10:02) I'm still the same as always, but I don't want you to be anxious about this so here it is_

Lance choked on his food, the phone slipping from his fingers, landing on the counter as he tried to breathe properly, hitting his own chest with his hand. Tears clouded his eyes and the loud sound of his coughs reverberated through his skull with force, making it a blessing when the air finally got to his lungs safely. He stood up from his seat, bouncing with restless energy, and took the phone in his hands, looking at the picture again.

It was Keith. A photo of Keith.

He seemed older, the lines of his body more defined and the lines of his face more relaxed. The scars on his face seemed to almost disappear in the early morning light of the photo, almost as if the Garlan energy hadn't hit him full force, almost as if Haggar hadn't tried to get free from the team clawing at Keith's face. His shoulders seemed wider, hidden by the jacket he was wearing, and the curve of his neck was peppered with small freckles. His hair seemed as dumb as ever, longer now, and it had something different, something that made Keith look stunning, eyes shining, and lips curled up in a small smile that made Lance have a cardiac arrest.

He walked around the kitchen, phone in hand, heart beating wildly and a scream tucked in his throat. He couldn't explain what he felt in that moment, couldn't explain the absolute _exhilaration_ that ran through his very core at being able to see what Keith looked like after so much time spent apart. He felt breathless as he focused on the picture, on the way Keith's seemed more mature, the way his hair seemed softer.

The way he looked like the only thing Lance wanted to look at for the rest of his life.

He ended up on his knees on the kitchen floor, in front of one of the chairs. His phone was on the chair, the photo still shining brightly on his screen, almost as if mocking him. He had his elbows on the chair, hands on his forehead, and he couldn’t seem to stop looking at the photo as if, in that way, he could get used to the feeling.

He couldn't.

“Fuck my entire life,” he breathed out shakily, fingers gripping hair and body tightening at the warmth that had settled in his stomach.

His chest hurt with the force of a thousand stars and air was starting to be a foreign concept to him, but all the doubts, all his fears of forgetting Keith had magically been swiped away from his mind, leaving him just an eager feeling of _more._

It wasn’t enough with a picture. It hadn’t been enough with the calls and the messages and it wouldn’t be enough with a picture. He knew, and he wondered what made him like this, just taking, taking and _taking_ and never feeling satisfied.

He took the phone in between his hands, thumbs hovering over the screen before typing a message rapidly, almost to the rhythm of his heart.

_You are gorgeous._

He read it a million times, like the words were written in Altean and not in English, deleted it and tried again.

_Looking good, Kogane._

He groaned, exasperated with himself, and ended up deleting that one as well. He let his head fall forward, his arms cushioning the blow. He didn’t want to play it cool, didn’t want to downplay the importance of what Keith sending this meant and, at the same time, didn’t want to give his feelings away.

But Keith cared for him enough to be there at all times, enough to try and make everything easier for him, and it felt wrong to just tease his way out of it.  

He inhaled deeply and, knowing that a simple message wouldn’t cut it, dialled Keith’s number with shaking fingers. _I’m going to die_ , he thought, placing a hand on his chest and feeling the staccato beat of his heart, as if he couldn’t feel it pulsing in his head.

The line got through, then, Keith’s voice filling his ears, creating sparkles there with the way he made Lance’s tongue roll off his tongue. Lance panicked and, sprawled out on the kitchen’s floor of his childhood home, with his cheeks aflame and his feet cold, he blurted:

“You are not supposed to look that good.”

He closed his eyes, the silence on the other side of the line deafening, until Keith’s shy laugh was the only thing Lance could hear all around him.

“Am I not?” Keith asked, coyly, giddiness present in his voice, making something inside of Lance burn up with affection.

“Nope. Not when I’m not around,” it slipped out of his mouth, his tongue forming the words at its will.

The sudden rush of adrenaline was what should have left him breathless, but it was Keith’s soft tone, the way the words turned to velvet when they left his mouth that did it.

“Maybe I’ll try to look even better when you are around.”

“I will still hate your mullet,” he blurted out, panicking again as the pressure on his chest grew, threatening to shatter his ribcage.

“What a surprise,” Keith said, irony coating his voice, unfazed by Lance’s clumsiness at handling the situation.

“Is it, though?” he curled on himself on the cold floor, watching the light draw patterns on it playfully and marvelling at the little disbelieved laugh he managed to coax out of Keith. “But I really like your smile.”

“So much,” he added, hearing his sibling making gagging sounds from where they were spying on him in the living room, but he ignored them, focusing on the sudden uneven breath on the other side of the line.

 “So I guess that’s— hm, compensation?” he said, terrified of the sudden free fall he had taken.

He was about to keep on talking, ramble as he always did when he was anxious or nervous, to fill up the emptiness and the unresponsiveness, when Keith suddenly coughed, almost as if catching his breath, and stuttered his words out.

“T-That’s—um, good. I like your smile, too,” he added, composing himself a little as Lance chuckled, knowing it to be an empty compliment.

 “You haven’t seen me in a year, Keith,” it was a mere whisper, but it rang so loud in his chest that he felt it hurt.

It was the truth that plagued his nightmares and, sometimes, his days. The elephant in the room that didn’t want to be acknowledged, that thought that could slip away and lose importance just with the exchange of messages and a few calls.

“That’s…” Keith’s voice was doubtful, wavering at that single word, and Lance felt his stomach dropping.

“What?”

Lance heard him sigh, heard the creak of the chair he was sitting on as he moved and then:

“Remember when we were coming back to Earth and Coran gave us that thing that was like a camera?”

“I do,” he remembered the team’s flushed faces with happiness, the playfulness of it all.

They had fun with that, taking family photos and messing around, trying to hold down the dread that came from knowing that once they arrived to Earth, everything was over. He felt a painful pang on his chest when the sudden memory of the team resting on the control room, watching the stars together with the soft presence of their lions on the back of their minds assaulted his conscience. He willed it away, focusing on Keith’s voice instead.

“I asked Coran for the photos before landing on Earth. I have them with me, so I haven’t forgotten you. But…”

“What?” Lance asked again, this time so softly Keith had trouble hearing it.

“The photos are pretty old…”

“Are you asking for photos of me?” Lance asked after a pause, eyes widening and heart stopping inside of his chest when Keith laughed at his bewildered tone.

“I am. If you don’t mind,” he added afterwards, rapidly, and Lance had to control the awful urge to giggle and roll around on the floor.

“I don’t mind at all.”

“Good. It’s been a year— I want to see you.”

And with that Lance was gone, laughing ridiculously into the phone as he closed his eyes, letting what he was feeling wash over him completely. Everything was so warm and bright and he felt so light, weightless, almost as if he didn’t have to follow the world’s rules anymore.

“Okay,” he whispered into the phone then, suddenly feeling weak and content. “I want to see you too.”

 

* * *

 

 

Keith didn’t lose it when Lance sent him a selfie. In fact, he seemed very composed over text, sending a compliment or two that made Lance blush down to his toes and smile silly for the rest of the day. But he liked to think that those fifteen minutes Keith took to reply in between messages had been spent staring at his photo, just as Lance had done before.

He liked to think that way, the flutter of hope growing in the pit of his stomach every time the thought popped up in his mind, but he knew he was being unrealistic, fuelling fantasies that had little to do with reality.

But, even if his fantasies were running wild, the reality was that he was getting more of Keith than ever before. Now that the shyness had fallen to pieces, the photos had begun to appear more and more, leaving Lance breathless and staring at his phone helplessly, going through all the pictures he had been saving from Keith.

It was almost silly how easy their relationship seemed now, how a conversation could change everything in a second. Lance still felt himself go weak when Keith sent a photo of himself without warning, when he complimented one of Lance’s jokingly making him bite his lip and stare into the distance until his mother had to hit him softly on the head to make him pay attention.

In all that concentrated chaos of photographs, Lance had a favourite. Keith had sent it a week after their call, everything still a little new and unclear, but so good neither of them had felt awkward about the situation.

In the photo, Keith had been sprawled on the bed. It had been taken late at night, the light of his room illuminating his face, creating shadows and sculpting his face so softly Lance had had trouble breathing. His hair had been in a disarray, eyes sleepy and shadows under his eyes so pronounced they looked like black holes. His scars were pronounced, sharp patterns that stood out on Keith’s skin, drew on his jaw and cheeks as they were. Keith had been a mess, had told Lance so in a message after sending the photo, but Lance had thought that he had never seen anything so beautiful in his entire life.  

He opened the photo when he was feeling anxious and drew the contour of Keith’s scars with his eyes to distract himself, letting himself focus on his jaw, only to move onto the black hair that seemed to be flowing beneath Keith’s head.

He had more photos that could count as his favourite, of course, but this one made easier to imagine Keith lying beside him, sleepy and tired, basking in Lance’s company.

Lance hated himself a little when his thoughts wandered off that way.

But he didn’t hate himself enough to stop it.  

 

* * *

 

 

“You are drunk,” Lance hissed at his phone, stepping into his boots as quietly as he could before getting out of the house to sit on the porch.

Everyone was sleeping, tired from another day spent together at the beach, playing and screaming like children. He was tired, too, but the tell-tale vibration of his phone when Keith had called him had sobered him up quickly.

“I am. What’s new?” Keith snorted and Lance heard his mattress creaking as he tried to arrange himself over the covers.

“Did you get—?”

“Water and pills. I know, Lance.”

They grew silent then, like they had done many times before, and, as Lance stared at the stars, hearing Keith get ready for bed, a sense of calmness and peace filled him up completely, protecting him from the cold of the night.  

“I lied to you. The other day,” came Keith’s soft voice into his ears, and his stomach bottomed out, contentment freezing in his veins when his brain finally made sense of the words.

But before Lance could say a word, Keith continued:

“When I told you I asked Coran for the photos. I only asked for one.”

“Okay?” Lance asked lowly, confusion taking the better of him.

“I caught you smiling with the camera,” his voice was shaking, trembling at the edges, and Lance felt a whole-body shudder ran through him, breath caught in his throat. “You looked gorgeous and I— I knew there was a possibility that I would never see you again, so I asked Coran for it.”

Lance couldn’t talk, couldn’t find the words inside of his chest or his brain to tell Keith what he was feeling. He was full with so many emotions running wildly inside of him that he felt dizzy with it, felt something unwinding inside of him as Keith’s words echoed inside his mind.

“That’s… all I wanted to say,” Keith said after the silence and Lance couldn’t do anything to stop him from slipping away. “Goodnight, Lance.”

And with that he was alone, phone sliding down his ear and onto his lap as his grip grew lax, as the air around him seemed to not be enough for his lungs.

“Fuck,” he breathed out, trembling hands coming up to cover his mouth, hope raging inside of his veins, rattling his bones.

The night felt suddenly too warm for his skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments are truly appreciated, and you can talk to me on tumblr and twitter (@warmybones)!!


	3. Chapter 3

In space, as if something made out of a paradox, his priority had always been breathing. Breathing through the panic attacks, breathing inside of Blue to feel their bond deepening, breathing in a foreign planet and swallowing the feeling of his lungs reconstructing themselves.

He had always worried, always thought that it was possible for the altean technology to make an error in the readings, to send the human paladins to their deaths without meaning to. The thoughts nagged at him, and the fear started to come with them— Was there enough oxygen inside of his suit? Were his lungs made to handle that? Was the planet they were stranded on safe for their bodies?

He had fought tooth and nail to keep on breathing in a place where everything was doomed to die, to fall into nothingness, and now that he was finally on Earth… well, how ridiculous was to feel short-breathed when he was drowning on air?

The oxygen was there, but Lance’s heart was stuck in his throat, constricting it, his shaking hands grasping at his own skin. Everything was fuzzy, but something inside of him was whispering to get up, get up and run, run, _run_...

So he did.

His muscles tightened, years of war ingrained into their every fiber, and when he took off everything in him screamed _yes_. Bolting from the porch and running down the road was far easier than dodging Galran shots, and so he let his body free, left the logic behind him as he hurried, substituted it with a primal instinct of just _go._

The freezing night caressed his reddened skin in a murmur, soothing and quiet. But quiet didn’t have the same meaning for him after the war, and this, compared to the dull nights in the castle, moving relentlessly through space, felt thunderous.

The melodies the wind created when it brushed against the plants, against his own body, the sound of his furious step against the road, the animals calling into the night.

Thunderous.

He thought of screaming, of letting his voice join the sounds in the silence, letting it carry out as far as it would go. He thought, he thought, he thought—

Keith had a photo of him.

Just him.

Keith had had that photo for as long as they had been separated.

He ran faster, striking the road with so much force he felt the impact ran through his toes into his calves. His lungs were burning, but he felt the words pounding inside of his head much more.

What was he supposed to do with that?

What was that supposed to _mean_?

The wind struck his face, harder, his hair drawing away from his temple as he breathed out harshly, the weight of his phone burning where it was settled inside of his pocket. The darkness of the sky was beginning to fade away, but the claustrophobic feeling inside of his chest persisted. He closed his eyes, willing it away as a broken sound escaped his mouth.

He wanted to do something, anything, that could get these feelings under control, something to make him stop feeling like he was too big for his own skin. Lance didn’t know what he needed, until he stood in front of it, breathless and soaked in sweat.

The building was as old as he remembered it; white paint chipper, eroded stone stairs and a green door weak on the handles. His childhood laid bare behind that door in the form of a swimming pool too crumbled to be safe, cold tiles and watered coughs. His heart launched inside of his chest at the thought of pushing against the water, his body a weapon against a natural force. It had been so long since he had felt powerful just _because_ that he almost tripped over himself on his rush to sneak inside of the building. His fingertips remembered the weakened hold of the door and he listened closely, with his eyes closed, for the tell-tale _click_ that his clever fingers would give him.  It had always been so easy to enter the sleeping building, and he almost scoffed when the lock gave underneath his fingers too easily.

Lance slipped in, all long limbs and tired heart shivering with fatigue, and found his way through the darkness; the hallways and walls closing in on him, welcoming. It only took a couple of minutes to feel the weight of another door against his palm, took a second to open it and less than that to become breathless by the familiar sight.

The darkness coating the white tiles, the quietened bleachers and the lightened water of the swimming pool seemed to hold their breath, coaxing him to step closer. The glass windows opposite to the door opened the space to the firmament, not letting Lance forget the alignment of the stars, whispering, _you were there, you wanted to be there_.  

He felt a growl scratch at his throat, felt the heaviness of his limbs and the fire inside his veins resurrecting like a forgotten phoenix. He didn’t want to think, didn’t want to feel, so he shed his clothes, left them crumbled and forgotten on the edge of the pool and threw himself into the water as eagerly as a drowning man sought to breathe again. 

And what an eagerness.

The freezing water cooled his skin and settled his opposing thoughts. He sighed underwater, bubbles sprouting from his mouth and nose as the explosion of sensations throttled his body. He opened his eyes and stared up at the real world, the one where nothing was muffled and where everything weighed down a thousand times more, the one he could leave right now, if he desired to do so. It was soothing, to know that he could die by his own choice when years of piloting through galaxies had told him otherwise. He felt safe, with his aching lungs and blurry sight, because, who could find him down there?

No one, Lance decided as he lurched forward, letting his body lead his journey against the water, shutting off his brain and bidding goodbye to reality. 

The light of the pool engulfed him.

 

* * *

 

 

Lance hadn’t had many epiphanies in his life, but hanging there, on the edge of the pool, hair slicked back and lungs constricting as he tried to breathe in more oxygen than they could handle, he realised how much he loved this.

His lungs were cursing him from Altea all the way back to Earth, but his limbs felt heavenly soothed, the unrested energy that had been boiling inside of his body for months had finally exploded, leaving a sweet aftermath that he couldn’t have dared to imagine. Why hadn’t he done this before? Why had he beaten himself up when everything became too much instead of listening to his body and searching for a way to make it better?

He didn’t know, but now he has _this_. His mind felt clearer, the foggy layer that made his thoughts discontinued was gone, and without it came the resolution of facing himself and everything he had been fearing.

“Fuck,” he whispered, breathless, forehead against the edge of the pool, watching the light dance through the ripples in the water.

His feelings for Keith ran deeper than any other thing he had ever felt; deeper than the homesickness, than the fear of space. He had made peace with the fact that he was too far gone on Keith, but could Keith be as gone as him? Did he even have a chance?

Keith was impulsive, had always been. He let his body act by pure instinct, logic set aside for something that tug at his gut with far more intensity. So then, if he felt something for Lance, why hadn’t he acted on it? He had had a million opportunities, a million sparring sessions in which he could have pushed Lance against the wall of the training room, heated frustration turning into bruising touches and gasping breaths.

Lance could imagine it perfectly: the way his hands would be bound by Keith’s just above his head, their bodies too close, warmth seeping madly through the cloths. He would lose his breath, with an inside fire reddening his cheeks and his heart trying to escape through his mouth, and Keith would know, would look at him with those stupidly pretty eyes and would know. He would breathe out, harshly, before willingly crumbling over Lance, tightening his hold and hiding his face on his neck, leaving kisses along the tendon, making Lance shiver sweetly as he traveled up, up, lips dragging feverishly against skin.

Lance would gasp against the tortuously tender touch and Keith would almost swallow it, dropping an open-mouthed kiss against the corner of his mouth. Keith would be tougher and edgier, but softer in so many ways, and Lance would melt against him, go as pliant as he had ever gone in his life just to let Keith hold him up just with his kisses.

 _Fuck,_ Lance thought when his heart began to hurt, closing his eyes and slipping underwater.

His heart beat louder there, and he shyly covered his chest with his arms, wondering how a simple image conjured by his mind could make his hair stand on end and his toes curl. His heart started beating for an entirely different reason when a scream from the surface filtered through the water and Lance, scared and brave Lance, rose from the water urgently, only to see the doors of the pool opening to reveal a group of kids entering and screaming excitedly. He blinked, disoriented, watching the sun that came from the windows reflect on the kid’s faces, when it dawned on him. It was morning, the stars were gone and he was in his boxers in the middle of a swimming pool meant to be closed until just then.

He groaned, slipping out of the pool with a swift movement, feeling how the ache started to settle in his muscles. The kids were still screaming, throwing their bags on the bleachers, completely oblivious to Lance’s presence. Getting advantage of this, he got his bundled up clothes in a rush, pressing them against his chest and frowning when he thought about getting in them when he was still wet, boxers painfully tight against his skin.

Lance was wondering if he could sneak inside the janitor’s room and get some towels when the door to the swimming pool opened once more, this time to reveal a man in a large brown coat. Lance faltered, steps slowing down as he took him in. His presence was imposing, hair flowing behind him in the form of dreadlocks and steps resounding through the space loudly. His beard was the colour of wet wood, curling at the edges of his face like it was a dying animal. He had a tired face, mouth turned downward, shadows under his eyes: the kind of people who was impossible to pinpoint their age.

Even so, his eyes shone, the way onyxes did, so beautifully bright that it made Lance look him over one more time. It didn’t match, the way the man carried himself with the way he regarded the world.

Their shoulders touched when they passed each other, Lance curling on himself, feeling exposed, and the man curling forward, almost as if he was too tired to fight gravity.

“Kiddo.”

The voice was deep, deeper than anything Lance had ever heard, and, when he turned around, surprise tightening his muscles, the man was watching him over his shoulders, walking over the edge of the pool as if he wasn’t afraid of falling into the water.

Lance nodded at him, gazes connecting for a few seconds before they broke it at the same time.

He walked away, chills running down his spine as he tried to put on his clothes on the go, the man’s voice ordering the children around following him until the old door of the building had closed behind him.

 

* * *

 

There was something unnerving about the silence of a day being born, something about the lack of cars on the road. Or maybe it was just him, clutching the phone in his hand too tightly as he made his way back home, the unnerving one. In the end, it didn’t matter, life’s grammatic, unnerving or unnerved, he had come to a decision and his fingers were already moving through the phone’s screen.

The recording app stared at him, accusingly, and Lance could hear the implied _you are a coward_ as his fingers tried pressing play. But what else could he do? Calling Keith would only be disastrous, he knew, and texting him would never even cover what he had to express. So this is was the easiest way; record himself and then send it to Keith. A pathetic attempt at something that should be said in person, but he had to make do. He breathed in, closing his eyes for a moment before pressing play.

“Hey, Keith,” he cringed at how stupid it sounded, but continued. “I felt you—heard you freak out from here a few hours ago. That’s why I’m recording this instead of calling you. I know you appreciate your space, but I wanted to tell you this. Keeping…” he swallowed, the words too heavy on his tongue to let them out. “Keeping a photo of me isn’t… well, I suppose you think it’s embarrassing, since you hang up on me, which rude, my man, very rude.”

He tried to sound lively, take the serious tone and transform it into something lighter, but he was choked up and, he found out, that breathing it and out before growing serious again was the only way he could do this.

“It’s not. Embarrassing. If I could—If I could have had a photo of you, I would have, too. God Keith, do you have any idea…?” Lance stopped, swallowed and closed his eyes, begging his heart to stop pumping out words into his blood that would probably make everything more complicated. “I have never. I—,” He groaned, the palm of his hand digging into his eye as he desperately tried to find the words. “This is coming out in all the wrong ways. I want to tell you so many things, Keith. Sometimes it feels like I— like I will drown if I don’t tell you. But this isn’t the way. I don’t want to tell you this when you are freaking out and we are apart. I… I want to tell you when we finally see each other. I want to see you. I want to see you so you can look me in the face and believe me when I tell you how incredibly happy it makes me that you kept a photo of me with you. I want you to believe me when I tell you that if I could be with you, I would. Without a second thought.”

He gasped then, harshly, trying to regain his breath after such a speech. He chuckled then, eyes opening and watching the sun rise, feeling breathless and lighter.

“See what you do to me? I haven’t talked so fast since forever, and I _do_ talk a lot. I don’t want you to freak out, okay? Not about things that have to do with me. You can talk to me about anything. Anything. I mean it. Anddd, well, I hope that I have made my point and that this wasn’t as embarrassing as I think it was. Good morning, Keith,” he whispered before stopping the recording. His hand was trembling. In fact, everything was; his body, his bones, his soul. His house laid a few meters away from him, silent and immutable, exactly the same as he had left it.

 _I wish I could tell you_ , he thought, entering his house and walking to his room, feet moving on his own as his mind traveled far away, somewhere where he could rest. His body brought him to his bed, where he collapsed, the danger of choking on his own nervousness fading away.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Consciousness greeted him harshly, with a scream from his mother and the cries of his younger siblings, surely being caught doing something naughty. Consciousness greeted him even more harshly when the notification of a message ripped his sense of calmness out of him.

It was from Keith, a recording that he played with the phone against his ear and his heart stuck in his throat.

“You know me far too well, I think,” said Keith’s voice against his ear, soft tone and breathless laughter making Lance curl his toes. “I’m sorry I freaked out. Sorry I made you worry. I have something I want to tell you—show you, too. When we finally see each other again. Soon, Lance-- I promise. I… I also wanted to thank you. For not pressuring me. For being much more than I could ever ask for,” he breathed in, the sounds of plates clattering in the background. “The rest, I will tell you when I see you.”

The recording ended, leaving Lance in his dim-lighted room, with his mom voice in the background, feeling far too many things. Things which were amplified when he looked at the phone again and saw, just below the audio, easily missable, a message that made his chest tighten:

_(12:34) In a month._

 

_(12:34) We can meet in a month._

 

_(12:35) If that’s alright with you?_

 

Lance couldn’t help it: he screamed. Jumped from the bed, opened the door in a rush and practically ran a marathon through the house before finding his mother and throwing himself at her. He was too happy to talk, to happy to do anything except pick her up and dance in front of his parent’s bedroom with her in his arms, laughing against her neck. He was too big for skin, the bubbly feeling threatening to overflow through his veins. It had been so long since he had felt like this, so blindly happy with a warm pressure against his ribcage.

“We are meeting, we are finally meeting!” he chanted, letting his mother down, kissing her before running off into his room once again.

He threw himself on the bed, fumbling for the phone and typing rapidly when he got a hold of it, ignoring his father’s voice coming from the hallway: “What’s wrong with him?”

 

(13:15) FUCK YES

 

(13:15) When where how do i need to buy a ticket

 

(13:15) Do i need to buy anything

 

(13:16) Keith don’t drop this bomb on me and then disappear!!!!!!

 

(13:16) I’m literally jumping on my bed asdfasdf

 

 _(13:17)_ _You are the one who disappeared on me, idiot_

 

_(13:17) I want to show you something important_

 

_(13:17) Something I’ve been working on_

 

_(13:17) Would you mind coming here?_

 

_(13:18) I will pick you up._

 

(13:18) You mean drive all the way here just to go back? Are you crazy?

 

_(13:18) No? I’m not going to let you spend money coming here when I have a car_

 

(13:19) So you are going to spend it instead of me. I can catch a plane, Keith

 

 _(13:19) I wanna pick you up._ _Let me do this?_

 

(13:19) Okay. But if you are coming to get me you are staying for a few days.

 

_(13:20) That’s fair_

 

_(13:20) Is your family okay with that?_

 

(13:20) Okay with what?

 

_(13:20) Me staying_

 

(13:21) Of course they are idiot!! They want to meet you

 

_(13:21) I want to meet them too_

_(13:21) And see you_

_(13: 21) I can’t wait to see you_

(13:22) Me neither, god

 

_(13:22) 30 days_

(13:22) 30 days!!!!!

 

Lance smiled, throwing the phone on the sheets and jumping off the bed once again, this time to throw himself in his father’s arms, to tell him all about it as his mother folded laundry on their bedroom, both listening intently.

He was going to see Keith, was going to confess his feelings for him.

How heart-stopping was that?

 

* * *

 

A week passed. A week of dancing on their tiptoes, flirting without flirting, feeling feigning they didn’t. A week in which Lance managed to start finding himself, slowly but surely, again. If Keith was his pillar, the water was his foundations, and now that he had finally realised it, he felt himself balancing, settling, the ground underneath his feet no longer wobbling.

The nightmares were there, as so was the anxiety and every terror he had gathered through the years. They didn’t disappear, how could they? But he could swim, swim and swim, until he was too tired to think, to feel, the water flowing against his body, engulfing him tightly and getting rid of everything Lance despised.

It became routine, sneaking in the building of the swimming pool and hour or two before it opened, swimming forcefully until his muscles ached. It became routine seeing the tired man from the first time, seeing the kids running around as he exited the building with a lighter heart and a heavier body.

It became so normal after a week that he let his guard down, let himself focus on what his body wanted and nothing more. And that was his mistake, he realised on an early morning as he rose from the water, oxygen filling his lungs as he felt the water lapping at his skin hungrily.  

“You sneak in pretty early,” a voice said behind him and, against his better judgment, he screamed.

There was a chuckle that echoed through the space as Lance turned around, heart thundering in his ears at the sudden fright. The man from every morning was there, bottle of vodka in his hand, leaning against the bleachers like he owned the place.

Lance breathed in, willing his heart to calm down, chlorine flooding his senses for a moment before he focused on the man with a frown. His mouth opened, but the man beat him to it, smirking as he rose the bottle of vodka at him:

“Your swimming is impeccable, even when you do it so desperately.”

It hadn’t been a bad night. Not exactly. Keith had called him, waking him up just before his dream started to take an ugly turn, sparing him from the trembling and screams that would have followed. They had talked, Keith checking on him before complaining about the incompetence of night buses (“Don’t you own a bike?” “I can’t ride a bike when I have had a drink, McClain”). It hadn’t been a bad night, but he had no patience for this man.  

“You are drunk,” Lance said, matter of factly, slicking his hair back with his fingertips. 

“Not as much as I wished,” he replied, taking a swing from the bottle and leaving it beside him afterwards. “I’m Tamrat.”

His black eyes stared at Lance, his skin like charcoal reflecting the patterns of the water and Lance didn’t want to know, didn’t want to ask, didn’t want—

“What are you doing here, Tamrat?”

And maybe he did.

“I have a proposal for you,” Tamrat stood from the bleachers, feline movements that translated into elegance, proving that, yes, he wasn’t as drunk as he would have wished. He stood on the edge of the pool, staring down at Lance with a little smile. “I’m not made to coach children. You are made to destroy rivals with your swimming.”

The choice of words made Lance flinch, imagining a place where he didn’t want to go back, but curiosity caught the best of him. He tilted his head, raising one eyebrow, waiting for Tamrat to continue.

“Let me coach you. Lead you to the nationals. Even further,” he sounded so sure of himself, with those bright eyes and convincing smirk.

And the offer made Lance’s heart jump inside of his chest, muscles throbbing at the opportunity of working _for something_ , not just letting out unrested energy. The opportunity of creating something to remember, not to forget. He yearned, so much, to have a goal, to feel useful, to know that he had his life under control.

“You don’t even know me,” he said, despite of this, swimming to get closer to the edge of the pool, unconcerned of Tamrat’s gaze on him.

“Lance McClain. You come here every early morning for a reason I’m not interested in. You have potential you could exploit if you worked hard. I don’t need to know anything else. From now,” he added, leaning down and extending a hand towards Lance’s form.

“Aren’t the swimmers that go to nationals supposed to have trained for years?” he asked, taking the hand after assessing it and gasping when he found himself suddenly on the edge of the pool, Tamrat already pulling away, calmly, almost as if he hadn’t just pulled Lance out of the pool with a mere swift movement of an arm.  

“That’s why you would have to work harder.”

And the situation was surreal, ridiculous even. A man, almost as washed out as him, offering Lance something that sounded too good? That was so out of his reach?

 _You fought against the Galra empire and saved the universe,_ his brain supplied, and he closed his eyes, breath suddenly too shaky to seem normal.

“Give me time to think about it,” is what he ended up saying, conflicted emotions stirring inside his ribcage.

“Of course,” Tamrat said, softly, making his way to the bleachers and leaning back against them once again, giving Lance space, and the opportunity to get out of there.

Which he gracefully took. His clothes were on in a minute and his feet were carrying him out of there without even thinking, his body still turned towards Tamrat, but he had his eyes closed, head tilted towards the ceiling, unaware of Lance’s predicament.

The door felt heavy against his palm when he finally reached it and opened it, the noise thunderous in the silence of the building. He didn’t look back, but Tamrat’s voice followed him, tangling itself around his body.

“Tamrat Olujimi, remember it!” he exclaimed before the doors closed behind Lance.

He bit his lip, phone already out, typing as he exited the building. The cool air was a blessing to his confused trail of thoughts, but nothing could have prepared him for what he found out when he typed Tamrat’s name on his phone:

Tamrat Olujimi. Professional Swimmer. Retired four years ago, due to a shoulder injury. Coached two of the actual best swimmers in the world.

_Your swimming is impeccable._

It wasn’t a bluff. It wasn’t a joke. The fact that one of the best swimmer coaches out there had seeked him out and complimented his swimming wasn’t something he had taken out of a dream. His hands were shaking, feet rooted to the ground as he stared at his phone’s screen.

_Lead you to the nationals._

His body was throbbing. _Yes_ , it was telling him. _Yes,_ as if Lance’s heart wasn’t trying to take off from his chest. And he knew. He knew with the force of a thousand stars that he wanted this more than anything. More than he could understand.

And so, as he watched the sun rising rapidly through the horizon, he willed himself to understand.

 

* * *

 

By the time he arrived at his home’s porch, he was still shaking. It was late, his family would be awake, and the questions would come. And he didn’t want that, just wanted to curl up underneath the sheets and think about Tamrat and his offer long and hard, until the rest of the world disappeared and he could reason with his himself.

But he would probably be unable to do that, so he sighed, bracing himself, and opened the other, mouth half-opened in a call for his mother before he froze, eyes widening and breath shortening. There was a figure sitting on one of the kitchen’s chair, which looked up at the sound of the door and stared at him. A little tender smile was all it took to leave Lance speechless, to make him realise how desperately he had missed it and for how tortuously long. If his heart hadn’t been aching before, it might as well had bursted right then.  

 

 

“Hunk?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter, babes!! As always, if you want to talk to me shoot me a message at my tumblr or twitter (@warmybones)! Comments are massively appreciated, too!! ♡♡♡


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the wait guys!! Real life has been kicking my butt, but let's hope I can update more often from now on!   
> Also, look at the gorgeous panels @emunoiart has made for one of the scenes in chapter three!! https://twitter.com/emunoiart/status/828823164293619713  
>  It's absolutely amazing, shower them with love please!!!

If it was a dream, he didn’t want to wake up.

He didn’t want to trade his body lurching forward into Hunk’s already opened arms for the familiar sheets underneath him. Didn’t want to trade the warmth that exploded inside of his chest when he buried his face on Hunk’s neck for breathless gasps after dreaming of death. Lance trembled, body shaking with emotions, so wide and different that when Hunk’s arms wrapped around him— tightly, tightly, so _tightly—_ , he sobbed, growing boneless against him.

_Please, don’t let me wake up,_ he begged inside of his head, hands grasping at Hunk, clutching to anything, trying to prevent him from vanishing instantly. Lance wished, fervently, for his mind to let him have this; this peace of happiness, concentrated in a single moment, in a single person.

Hunk smelled sweet and Lance breathed it in, remembering, suddenly, that Hunk’s smell always managed to calm him down. It was just like his presence, warm and strong, something that screamed home, protection.

He let out another sob, trying to ease the pressure that was shattering his ribcage, the heaviness that laid behind his eyelids, and Hunk tightened his grip even still, trembling against Lance like a little kid.

“I’m sorry I took so long, Lance,” he said, softly, and Lance’s heart stopped for a moment, as if shocked by relief, because this wasn’t a dream. This was Hunk, really Hunk, here in his arms.

He laughed then, small and watered, vulnerable in all kind of ways as the tension inside of him snapped. Words spilled out of his mouth like a waterfall; incoherent bits and pieces of thoughts that slipped out before he could control them. But Hunk seemed to understand, because he answered, just as incoherently, to everything that Lance said.

It took a while for their thoughts to arrange themselves, to feel like it wasn’t a dream, but once it did, Lance could breathe easily, felt lighter on his feet and clearer in his head.

“What are you doing here?” Lance asked, the words muffled against Hunk’s neck.

He felt sedated with happiness, body sagging against Hunk’s as he shielded himself from the cold morning air. His hair was still wet from the pool, from running away from Tamrat and all that he meant. Hunk’s warmth was a gorgeous contrast to the cold feeling that had seeped from his skin to his bones: the chilling reality of being able to fuck everything up.

Lance wanted it all gone, and Hunk’s arms around him were doing magic to his mind.

Hunk drew away then, eyes watered and lower lip trembling, and Lance’s hear broke in the best way. He closed his eyes, letting the tears pool behind his eyelids when he felt Hunk’s hands on his hair, tenderly carding the locks there.

He had almost forgotten how much happier he was with Hunk near.

“Vacation,” he answered, laughing a little when Lance squealed, eyes shooting open. “Just for a few days.”

Excitement brightened Lance’s eyes as he looked at his friend, smile contagious and laughter melodic. It was what he needed, time with Hunk, time to talk and just be.

It wasn’t like they didn’t do that, like they didn’t keep in contact anymore, but the severity of Hunk’s work back in Europe kept them from doing so as much as they wanted. As much as they _needed._

And Lance hated it. Hated that he had saved the universe along with his best friend and that now, back on Earth, safe and sound just as they always had dreamed, he couldn’t burrow in his presence.

He hated it with a burning passion, but he endured it. For the late-night calls that he sometimes got, for the way Hunk talked and talked and talked in those, and for the way he seemed so incredibly _happy._

And, maybe, if Hunk came back to him like this, he could endure it a little longer.

He caught Hunk’s cheeks with his fingertips, a smile drawing on his face as he pinched them, earning a laugh that made the whole world seem like less of a scary place.

“That’s awesome, buddy! You deserve this rest.”

Lance opened his mouth to say something else, but was cut off when music started blasting from upstairs, Candela’s yelp as she tried to turn it down as loud as the music. They both jumped at the noise, but then it turned into something soft, one of Candela’s favourite songs that travelled downstairs, seeming to wrap around them with familiarity.

It was too early for his mother to be awake and yet, there she was, in her room, listening to her beloved music as the sun rose in the sky. He decided not to comment on it or on the way Hunk’s smile transformed into a little smirk, eyes shining with laughter. Candela and Hunk’s alliances could be terrifying, but it they worked together to surprise him like this, to bring Hunk to him, then he could breathe easier.

“How long are you staying?” Lance asked, one eyebrow rising accusingly as Hunk let go of him.

“I’m leaving tomorrow morning. I have to go see my mons before going back to Europe.”

_So soon?_ He wanted to ask, wanted to try and catch the happiness that seemed keen on slipping through his fingertips. Time slipped just in the same way, too, and one day wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough, and they both knew it.

But Lance understood. Understood that his mother had seen Hunk far less than him, had thought him dead, once, and that they deserved to see their baby boy as much as they could. He understood, but the sadness still tried to overwhelmed him, for a moment.

“At least I get to enjoy you for a day,” he tried for a smile, invoking that stupid optimism he had been capable of not long ago.

Lance tried to keep at bay the thoughts that were starting to swirl in his mind. They resembled smoke, dark and impossible to catch, which made them impossible to run from, too. And Hunk knew, knew exactly the moment Lance’s mind was put into motion just as he knew, even in space, when Lance wanted to crawl up and disappear, to tear his skin off his body just so he could feel that his skin fitted his bones.

And, while knowing, Hunk took his hand and leaded him to the counter, making him seat on the chair Hunk had previously occupied.

“Let’s make you breakfast, okay?” Hunk said, almost cooed, pulling away from the counter with a bright smile before wandering into the kitchen.

He opened the fridge, humming softly along Candela’s song, and Lance watched him pensively taking in the products inside, as if only the best would do for Lance. The scene was familiar, terribly so. Their childhoods were mirrored in everything they did in this small space, and he shivered, remembering how the sunrise used to paint the tiles with the same warm colours, how he used to seat in the same place, watching as Hunk worked and perfected his cuisine.

“I love you, buddy,” Lance said, suddenly, sighing in delight when the smell of food started to invade his senses.

“Let’s make you breakfast,” he said, pulling away from the counter with a sweet smile before wandering into the kitchen.

“I love you too,” he said as the fire cracked against the pan Hunk put over it.

And that was all Lance needed, in that moment; watch Hunk’s back as he worked and feel the ache of his muscles, sleepiness making his eyelids heavy. The dark smoke inside his mind didn’t disappear, but it started to suffocate at the back of his mind, hissing in pain at being ignored.

Everything was where it should be.

 

* * *

 

 

And the pancakes were delicious too.

 

* * *

 

 

“Hunk what?”

“Hunk is here, Keith!” Lance exclaimed, phone held between ear and shoulder as he tried to carry all the bags on his arms and avoid getting pushed around by the market’s crowd.

It was loud, full of people running and sellers screaming, and Lance had to remind himself to breathe, to look at the vast expanse of sky to remember that the sensation of being caged wasn’t real.

He blamed this whole situation on his mother’s stupid adoration for Hunk. It was understandable, of course, everyone adored Hunk but, honestly? Who have Hunk permission to cook dinner for a whole family and not expect the man to go all out?

And, as always, it was Lance who was paying the consequences, almost being smothered by people as he carried all the stuff Hunk had been keen on buying. Lance had lost him a few stands behind, swallowed by the crowd, and he had only sighed, exasperated with the situation. He had been trying to buy a box of tomatoes when Keith had called.

And damn everything if he was going to let those bags get in the way of answering Keith.

“He’s staying until tomorrow morning, and then he’s going back to his family,” he thanked the seller, biting his lip when he heard Keith gasp.

“Really? That’s amazing, Lance,” he could hear the excitement in his voice, but he could also hear him messing around, metallic sound reverberating through the space and making their way through the phone to Lance.

“Yeah. What are you even _doing?_ ” He let a little of his exasperation into his tone as he tried to get out of the crowd, of its flow, step away from the stands to find a peaceful bench where he could finally rest.

“Fixing my bike. What are _you_ doing? It sounds like you are running a marathon.”

And he might as well have been, with the way he had spotted a bench and was trying to push against people to get to it without dropping anything.

“If only you knew,” Lance heaved out, finally reaching the bench and practically slumping against it, bags surrounding him as he took the phone in his hand.

“You okay?” Keith asked, concern clear in his tone, and Lance’s heart jumped at that.

“Yeah, we are at the market and god, do I hate it.”

Lance fumbled around with the bags, making an inventory in his head of the products. The metallic sounds from Keith’s end, along with his breathing and the animated chatting around the stands made him relax, tension slipping from his shoulders. Tomatoes, potatoes, garlic, meat… Lance frowned, getting his hands on a brownish fruit and holding in a big sigh. Why did Hunk even need kiwis?

“Mmm, so you are helping Hunk like the kind soul you are?”

“Yep,” He popped the ‘p’ as he sprawled himself on the bench, head falling backwards to stare at the sky with a small smile. “He’s very lucky to have me.”

“He is,” it was the fondness in his voice, the way he said it so intently, that had Lance’s toes curling.

He closed his eyes, blocking everything out to focus on that sensation, on that tremor that Keith could create with a few words—a current of warmed up feelings that clogged his throat. How could Keith affect him this way? How could he become weak, body nonresponding, with just a drop of a few words?

Lance didn’t want to think about the moment he and Keith reunited, the moment where he would be able to touch, feel, and hear him so clearly it would feel like sharp ice digging into his ribcage. His heart settled in his throat at the thought of a wandering hand tracing his jawline, of intense eyes scratching his soul to leave him marked until the universe collapsed. He tried to swallowed everything back down, back to the obscure parts of his mind he didn’t let himself wander to, but it was getting difficult. He was getting greedy; Tamrat’s proposal, Hunk’s presence and the imminent reunion with Keith allowed his mind to let go, to unwind and torture Lance with images so clear-cut it left him breathless.

Everything could go wrong, he screamed inside of his mind, but the thoughts about Keith, the ones that managed to ignite his nerves made him feel so alive he couldn’t stop himself from hoping.

And god, did he hope.

“Is he around now? I want to talk with him,” Keith said, and he sounded so eager and happy that Lance had to inhale deeply to stop his heart from exploding.

“Oh, so you don’t want to talk to me anymore?” Lance asked, short of breath, pleased that Keith cared so much about Hunk but loving to tease him.

“You’re putting words in my mouth.”

“Oh, I would put something else in your mouth,” it slipped from his tongue before he could think the words through but, when he did, the smile froze on his face, air leaving his lungs in a rush.

Did he just say _that?_

He found himself unable to breathe, paralyzed with the terrifying silence that settled over the line. His mind was blank, for a second, and then he was scrambling to make everything okay, to get Keith to talk again, to make him forget the words had ever left his lips: “Holy shit, sorry, I’m so—. “

“I would let you,” Keith cut him off, voice rough and low, and if Lance wasn’t breathing before, he has having a cardiac arrest now.

He inhaled sharply, the tremor inside of his chest travelling all the way down to his knees, making them weak. He was trying to catch the pieces of his rational thoughts, scattering through the wind as they were, when Keith’s voice wrapped around him again: “Anything you wanted.”

“O-Okay,” he stuttered, louder than needed to. Heat curled up his skin, face reddening when he thought of sheets underneath their bodies, Keith carding his fingers through his hair and whispering hotly against his mouth, teasingly. “I-I would like t-that.”

Keith laughed, something shy and nervous, that made Lance see fireworks. He bit his lip, trying to stop any noise from escaping his mouth, as he felt himself warming up, burning from the inside out. He could feel the ache in his heart, in his bones, the twitching of his fingertips, but he was making a goddamn good job at trying to stay presentable.

At least that was what he was telling himself.

“Are you blushing? I bet you are blushing,” Keith asked, mischief clear in his voice and Lance felt his pulse in his ears. Everything else, the market, the people, disappearing under the torrent of emotions that weren’t letting him breathe properly.

“I’m not,” he said, voice shaking, fingers curling against the edge of the bench.

He wished he had something to say back, something to make Keith stutter in return, make his heart beat as fast as his, but his mind was gone, absolutely blank, leaving Lance to fend for himself with a million butterflies inside his stomach.

“You were always so quick to do that,” Keith continued and something delicious curled inside of his belly at the thought of Keith paying so much attention to him, to the little things.

He desperately wanted to know if Keith would like him blushing underneath the weight of his body. Wanted to know if he would like the shiver that would run through Lance’s spine when Keith tried to mold Lance’s lips with his. Wanted to know if Keith would notice, attentive as he was. If he would growl and make it harsher, hotter.

Jesus.

“I. Am. Not. Blushing.”

A liar in all his glory, because now his skin was definitely ablaze, and his heart was threatening to fly right of his chest.

“Whatever you say,” Keith relented with an airy laugh, but he seemed just as breathless as Lance.

The realization of how much he adored this, how much he loved how easy everything was between them was sudden and violent; how one word from Keith meant Lance becoming putty in his hands, and how one word from Lance could take Keith’s breath away.

“Asshole,” he couldn’t help but say it fondly, couldn’t help but lay his heart out in the open, wear it on his sleeve. He tried not to, but Keith made it so easy to lose himself, to fall into the cocoon of warmth they had built for each other.

“I can’t wait to see you,” Lance murmured against the phone then, like a prayer, surprising Keith into a gasp.

“I-I want to see you too. J-jerk,” he added, as an afterthought, and Lance chuckled, that stutter making his skin tingle.

There was something about learning Keith, learning his weak points, what made him stutter, what made him laugh, that drove Lance crazy. Slowly, so slowly, like the rotation of the Earth around the sun, like the rise of the tide on a full moon. Something that couldn’t be rushed.

But, god, he wanted to rush it, wanted them to collide against each other in an explosion so sweet he would never be able to get rid of the scars.

He wanted Keith to _burn_ him.

With his filter destroyed and his mind reeling, Lance opened his mouth, to say something, to make a fool of himself, but a loud cry coming from the phone made him stop. He sucked on a breath when Keith made a distressed sound, a litany of _heyheyhey_ escaping from his lips as the cry only grew louder.

“Keith?” Lance asked, warmth beginning to freeze at the panic that his mind pushed him into.

“Ah, Lance, sorry,” he said, in a rush, trying to make himself be heard through the noise. “Something kinda came up. Call you later?”

“Um, sure. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, don’t worry. Have fun with Hunk.”

And that was it. Keith’s soft voice was gone, and everything surrounding him came back to him in a rush. He was starting to be aware of the world outside of himself again when he noticed someone standing beside the bench, tall form hovering over him.

He looked up, right into brownish eyes, a small smirk flashing on Lance’s mind as a bandana flapped around with the wind.

Fuck.

“Sooooo,” Hunk said with _that_ tone, and Lance groaned. “Who were you talking to?”

“Mmm, mom?” he said, more like a question, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to fool Hunk for a second, but still trying to do so.

“Nope, you aren’t escaping this one. You are so red you look like you are going to explode, buddy.”

“It’s just— I’ll tell you later, okay?” his voice came out wrong, rough in all the places it shouldn’t be. His eyes glazed over as he thought about the feelings that he would have to voice sooner or later. “I have too many things to tell you.”

Hunk looked at him from above, teasing expression softening into something understanding when he felt Lance’s distress, saw it on his slightly furrowed brow and twitching hands.

“Sure. But no stressing, okay?” he held his hand out for Lance to take and Lance smiled, small and private.

“Okay,” he whispered, taking Hunk’s hand, standing from the bench and chuckling. “If I’m not to stress, can you carry all the bags?”

“Not a chance, babe,” Hunk laughed as he turned away, leaving Lance to carry all the bags back to the car. “I’m the one who’s driving, after all.”

Lance sighed. Love sure was heavy.

 

* * *

 

 

Lance’s ‘later’ came after a magical dinner with his family. He felt full, tiredness spreading through his limbs slowly, and he felt warm, so warm. Having his family and Hunk together was a blessing on itself, but that night had managed to blow so much of Lance’s inner darkness away that he felt speechless.

And not even the chilling night air that was entering through the car’s window could steal the warmth of his skin.

Hunk was driving, once again, and Lance was looking at him, face propped up on one hand, balancing himself on the car’s door. He felt at peace, watching his friend’s profile, watching the way the lights were playing tricks on his skin. He would be gone tomorrow, but Lance, for once, felt sedated with contentment, unable to think about a moment that wasn’t right _then._

The present was his, and the future belonged to the Lance who couldn’t stand himself.

Tomorrow, he would cry again. Now? Now he would enjoy the familiar weight that had settled on his chest since Hunk arrived, the one that made him feel safe.

The shore was looking at them from ajar, at the end of the road, and Lance was looking back— skin tingling and throat constricting with the desire to arrive, to feel the sand in between his toes. He longed to feel the breeze caressing his skin, leaving a salty taste on his tongue.

His leg bounced up and down, nervously, trying to get rid of an energy that was being accumulated deep inside his belly. He couldn’t wait.

He _couldn’t_ wait.

“I was talking with Keith,” his voice broke the silence in the car, made it shatter into a million pieces that graced his skin just as the night air did, biting. “Back at the market.”

Hunk’s eyes were on the road, but Lance felt him tense, back muscles coiling for a second, and saw the way his brow furrowed, before sneaking a glance to him.

“Keith as in Keith?”

Lance rolled his eyes, but the sarcastic response that he would usually give Hunk got buried underneath the wild beating of his heart, the rush of blood in his ears.

“Yeah, Keith as in Keith. We—“he swallowed, eyes turning away from his friend and to the window, heat crawling underneath his cheeks. “We have been talking for a while.”

“A while?”

“Months.”

Hunk hummed, an indicator that he was thinking carefully what to say next, turning the car to follow the sign to the beach, speeding up a little at seeing Lance’s nervousness.

“Is it serious? Between you two, I mean.”

“What? Hunk, it’s— it’s not like that. We are just,” the word seemed to get stuck in his throat, so he whispered it, curling on himself. “Friends.”

“It sure didn’t seem like that.”

“Hunk…”

“Look, Lance. I know you. And you looked so happy while talking to him…” he sighed as he stopped the car in the parking lot, the beach finally staring at them in all its glory.

Lance’s heart jumped as he opened the door of the car, as the breeze entered fully, bringing him the smell of the water and everything he adored.

“Talking to him makes me happy,” it was an admission to himself as much as it was one for Hunk and, with closed eyes, the prospect of losing that happiness made him frown.

“You don’t look happy right now,” Hunk’s soft voice always managed to pull at the strings of his heart and Lance knew, without a doubt, that his own mind, with its overthinking was the one that was making himself miserable once Keith’s voice disappeared from the line.

“It’s… complicated.”

“Talk to me?”

And so Lance did. Told him from the beginning, from the nightmares that murdered his sleep and were the origin of his beating heart, to that moment. He told Hunk how _tortuous_ it was, to hear Keith laughing, to feel him wanting, and not knowing if it was something real, or just a fragment of his imagination, of something he desperately wanted to happen. He didn’t know when Hunk had figured it out, if it was when they got out of the car to run to the beach, while he talked about how Keith calmed him down from his nightmares, how he breathed with him in the softest of ways. If it was when they curled against the other on the sand, water bathing their feet, as Lance stumbled over his words, trying to describe just how gorgeous Keith was, just how it pulled at the coiled heat inside of his belly.

Lance didn’t know when Hunk had figured it out, but he said the words, something finally giving way inside of him.

“I think I’m in love with Keith.”

It left his lips as easily as breathing, the chaos he thought his feeling were going to cause translating into the calmness of the sea, the big and goofy smile on Hunk's lips, his eyes teary as he launched himself forward to wrap Lance inside of his arms.

"Lance, that's amazing. I'm so happy for you, so, so happy. When are you two meeting? Oh my god, I can't believe it took you so long to tell me. I have to talk to Keith, I have to—"

"Hunk, Hunk! Buddy, calm down!" Lance said, a disbelieving laugh dropping from his lips as he hugged his friend, tried to bring him back from the rush he had gotten himself into.

So when Hunk’s words had stopped stumbling over each other and he had relaxed, Lance continued: “I don’t even know if I’m going to tell him.”

And, at that, Hunk grew tense, the smile leaving his lips as, this time, it was Lance who stumbled over his words to explain.

"It's just... idiotic that I end up falling for him when we are so far away. But he is always there. He has always been there, and, and—" he choked with his own words, a pressure inside of his chest creating a tsunami inside of his veins. "I don't know what to do, Hunk."

Hunk kept silent, waiting for Lance to continue, to spill all the venom that had been growing inside of him. He buried his head in his hands, and breathed out, picturing Keith’s smiles, his soft voice through the line, how warm he would feel against his fingertips, all gone because he couldn’t keep himself in check.

“What if I fuck it up?” he asked, voice breaking as he shook at the prospect of losing Keith. “What if I tell him my feelings and he just… shuts down?”

“You can’t possibly be that blind, Lance,” Hunk added, one hand coming up to tighten on his shoulder, coaxing Lance to leave the shell he had caged himself in.

“What do you mean?”

“Keith adores you,” he said, and Lance’s heart soared, toes curling and fingers shaking. If only, if only, if only. “It’s pretty clear from what you have told me. Jesus, he even has that photo of you!”

Lance remained in silence, focusing on the way the tide was being pulled in, the way it left his feet uncovered only to swallow them back. He didn’t want to listen to anything that could give him hope, but when Hunk sighed and continued talking, he found himself listening eagerly.

“I know you aren’t used to people liking you back, Lance, but you have to figure out how to believe this. I think you would be a fool if you didn’t take advantage of your meeting to tell him.”

“I’m just… terrified. Of losing him.”

 “You won’t. Why do you think that? I think he has shown you, and told you, many times how he doesn’t want to lose you.”

“I know all that you are saying makes sense, I know that he has said and done all that! But. There’s something. Inside of my head. There’s always something there that tells me just how wrong everything could go,” he dug his toes in the wet sand, willing the itch behind his eyelids away. “And I don’t think I would be able to handle it.”

“You will, because you have handled things much worse than a heartbreak. Because the prospect of a heartbreak is terrifying but, believe me when I say that if it’s not meant to be, the pain will eventually end. As will your nightmares,” he added, carding his fingers through Lance’s locks and making him shiver from head to toes. “One day you will wake up and nothing would have hunted you in your sleep.”

“I want them to end,” Lance said, chuckling, a sound that sounded too broken to fix. “And I want this to be meant to be.”

“As I do, buddy, as I do.”

They stayed like that for a while, until Lance finally started to peek out from his shell, slowly, so slowly, but Hunk had the patience of a saint and was more of a great person that Lance could ever be. So he stayed there, with him, until he finally put his hands down, letting the breeze blow away the tears staining his cheeks.

“He wanted to talk with you, you know?”

“Did he?”

“Yeah, catch up and all of that. I think he misses you,” he whispered the last part, watching as the water engulfed his toes.

“I miss him too,” Hunk said, and the _I miss everyone_ was implicit, but Lance knew how to hear it.

And that sad voice, united with his emotional exhaustion had him telling Hunk Keith’s number, so they could start talking again, so they could be a little less lonely together.

They ended up spending the night there, curled and clinging to the other. It was healing, to be heard like that, to be being loved so unconditionally as Hunk did. It made him felt more like himself, as powerful as he had once felt.

Hunk ended up falling asleep, but he laid there, on Hunk’s chest, watching the moon up on the sky, watching as it pulled the current forward and backwards. Hunk breathed peacefully and Lance smiled, curling tighter around him and closing his eyes.

He decided to make up his mind.

 

* * *

 

 

Hunk was leaving. Now, after hours spent on the beach, feeling like the teenagers they should have been from the beginning. Now, he was leaving, and he was hugging Lance so tightly he could barely breathe, the airport’s crowd manoeuvring around them.

“I’m going to miss you so bad, big guy,” Lance managed to say in between the tears, throat burning with the effort.

“I’m going to miss you too,” Hunk responded, or tried to, because the babble was almost unrecognizable for ears that weren’t Lance’s.

He managed to put a brave front, smiling as he hugged Hunk one last time before letting go, allowing Hunk to get away, as he had done long ago. It broke his heart into a million pieces seeing his friend crossing the doors, but he waved at him with all he had, chest warming up when he did the same, smiling after all.

They both broke down after they let the other out of their sight.

 

* * *

 

 

Everything seemed significantly emptier after Hunk had left, almost as if there was too much oxygen in the air. The kitchen he had taken over yesterday seemed pale, lifeless. The stairs, where he had stopped to play with Lance’s siblings, seemed wider and the rest, everything that was his house, everything that was his life seemed wrong, completely out of place.

Lance inhaled deeply, at the end of the stairs, listening to the silence of the house, trying to identify the cold feeling that had settled in his belly. And then, he decided that he just didn’t want to know, didn’t want to waste time on himself anymore.

He took the phone out, the bright screen deadly against the still poor-light house in the morning and typed. And deleted. And typed again. And went up the stairs. Typed again. Closed his bedroom door. Deleted it. Threw himself on the bed. Typed and, with a tremor in his heart, hit send as he closed his eyes.

(6:45) Sometimes I miss you so much it hurts to breathe. Like right now. I wish you were here with me, so I could tell you all the things I’m not brave enough to tell you.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the chapter!! Comments are always appreciated, as well as your opinion about the pace and everything else!!!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tell my heart you won't hurt it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Incoming fluff!!

His chest was burning.

The water was pushing against him, desperately biting his arms and legs, resisting with all it had. A blue blur that had captured Lance for too long, that had left his lungs begging for oxygen. The surface was calling to him, the warm orange light that the sunset cast over the water catching his eye.

But he didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop, really.

Because his nerves were still on fire, his mind was still filled with something he didn’t want to voice, his belly churning.

Because the water wasn’t _helping._

Maybe that was what angered Lance the most, that his personal haven refused to make him feel like he belonged here, like his body wasn’t made to move through the water. It was frustrating, that he could swim with everything he had, like he had done many times before, but that the water engulfing him, working against him wasn’t enough to get rid of everything that was boiling inside of him.

Something tugged painfully inside of his chest, then, and Lance came out to the surface, muscles tense as his back curved. He opened his mouth to breathe sharply, his chest heaving, eyes unfocused. He let his body float, his lungs accepting the air eagerly, body shivering with their desperate need.

In. Out. In. Out…

Lance didn’t know if the pressure inside of his chest was a sob or a scream, but he held it in, decided to leave it there until it cracked his ribs. Until the drops that were wandering through his uncovered stomach fell over its edges, back to the water. Until the drops that had decided to stay on his eyelashes slipped over his cheekbones.

Back and back and back.

Back to that morning, when his body had woken up to a silent phone, after a sharp flash of a nightmare. It had been bitter and uncomfortable, like waking up in the middle of the night cold because you kicked the sheets in your sleep. The perfect analogy, really— he had kicked Keith away, and he had taken his warmth with him, leaving to Lance to swallow the panic in his throat.

He had tried to soothe it away, his family doing wonders to keep him distracted, but, as the evening closed in, as the sunset casted reddened lights over their living room, he became weak. He had opened Keith’s chat, had stared at the ‘read’ that hovered underneath his own message, fingers trembling as his chest constricted.

It hurt, to see the tell-tale signs of Keith drawing away from him.

It hurt too much.

(18:03) I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.

He had texted it as fast as he could, before bolting out of the living room, a quick explanation for his mother’s sake leaving his lips and he was closing the entrance door behind him, breathing in the evening air and letting something ugly bloom in the spaces between his ribs.

And now, floating on the water, hand coming up to cover his eyes against the scary blur that the world had turned into, he could feel them cracking.

One by one, crack by crack.

_Has he had enough of me?_

His hands dug deeper into his eyes, bright coloured dots filling his vision as his chest tightened over his ribs. His fingers twitched, but Lance stilled them, almost as if he could stop the pressure in his belly that begged him to check his phone. He had fucked up, hadn’t he?

 _Learn to believe it,_ Hunk had said but, dear god, how? How was he supposed to do that?

How could he believe that someone could ever love him just as ardently as he did?

How—

“You need to work on your form.”

The sentence echoed through the room, magnified by the silent cover that the water allowed. Lance knew that voice, had ingrained itself into his mind after whispering a hidden desire into his heart, filling it up.

He stood on the pool’s floor, toes slipping before catching himself, and turned his head to watch Tamrat stand over the edge of Lance’s watered world, hands inside his pocket and a slight tilt of his head. He seemed to shine there, bathed by the golden light, waiting for Lance to watch up to him.

His eyes were clearer than the ocean, and his hands were empty, no bottles or bitter laughter in sight.

A shame, really.

“What are you doing here?” Lance asked, voice raw, throat burning from all that he was keeping inside.

He could have hid from Tamrat, could have swallowed the agonic collision that was shattering his chest, but he was tired. Tired of hurting in silence, tired of letting his own mind eat him away. He was frustrated, worried, and so, so scared.

He wanted the world to _feel_ it.

“The same as you,” Tamrat answered with a little smile, bitterness coating his lips.

He sat down on the edge of the pool, letting his legs into the water and closing his eyes as he did so. The trousers began to soak, clinging against his skin desperately, but Tamrat didn’t seem to care. A sigh escaped his lips as he basked in the coldness, legs moving slightly, curling in on himself.

And Lance understood him. Understood that urgent tug of wanting in, to be surrounded by a thing you adored.

Understood the pain of not being able to do it.

He studied Tamrat’s face, from the frown of his lips to his tensed shoulders. His dreadlocks flowed down his back and Lance watched, entranced, the way the light of the sunset outlined him, the way it made him shine. He opened his eyes and Lance curled in on himself, too, speechless and suddenly coy, arms wrapping around his belly protectively. The way Tamrat held himself, even when looking worse for wear than Lance, made him feel a shame that ran up his cheeks.

“Which is?” he managed to say, the words punched out from him.

“Running away,” it was a mere whisper, but Tamrat’s eyes screamed desperately, so desperately, hands trembling as they played with the hem of his coat. “I think we both like doing that.”

Lance understood, then, arms uncurling from around him and body leaning forward. They were the same, he and Tamrat. Trying to fight the current of a sadness so deep it seemed to want to drown them. They were fighting, trying so hard to keep their heads above the water that they had stopped enjoying the feeling of floating, had stopped appreciating the flowing and had become afraid of their too heavy bodies.

He swam forward, to the edge of the pool, to Tamrat. He looked like a wild animal, feline finesse turning into something denser, more dangerous. His eyes were focused on Lance, speaking volumes, fears that Lance would never be able to understand. But, even so, Tamrat’s unspoken words were clear for him.

_Come closer, I only bite those who hurt me._

“I don’t like it,” he whispered, swimming forward until his fingers touched the wall of the pool. “Sometimes it’s… easier.”

“And sometimes it’s not.”

It was never easy, they both knew. But there was a truth hidden there, something that was settled deep inside of Lance, an idea that refused to leave. He surprised himself when he opened his mouth to voice it, to give it form, opening himself up for a moment to Tamrat.

“I think I would break if I didn’t.”

His voice was so soft he could barely recognize it, his hands trembling as he casted his eyes downward. He had never admitted it out loud. He had never wanted to admit it out loud. But it felt good, and terrifying at the same time, to voice it, to leave it out in the open.

He was afraid of breaking, had been for too long.

And maybe that wasn’t something to be ashamed of.  

Maybe that was something that could be understood, Lance thought when he saw the way Tamrat’s hand moved from the corner of his eye. It hovered over Lance’s head, close to touching his wet locks, before curling into a fist and drawing away.

And it broke Lance’s heart, that someone could be afraid of giving solace like that.

“I did. Once,” Tamrat said, hands decisively locked over his lap, staring ahead of him and squaring his shoulders, bearing the weight of that admission.

Lance looked at him, all widened eyes and unformed words. There sat the embodiment of his deepest fears, still alive and breathing, confiding in Lance with a softness it made Lance forget about his own edges.

How could you break someone like this?

“But you wouldn’t. You are fierce.”

“Fierce?” Lance chuckled in disbelief, a sound that reverberated through the room.

Nobody had ever described him like that. He had always been the sharpshooter, the strategist, the sweet-talker. He had had to act in cold blood, from far away, studying statistics and body language. Keith was the fierce one, the raging fire that consumed everything, not him.

“You haven’t seen yourself swim,” Tamrat shook his head, and his voice tugged Lance’s mind away from the whirlwind that was the Keith from his mind.

Tamrat sighed, watching the sunset set from the windows, watching the light die, and Lance couldn’t stop looking at him, couldn’t stop aching at the thought of the opportunity he had gifted him with.

This wasn’t for anyone. Not for the universe, not for his friends, not for his family.

Not for Keith.

It was for him.

This was _his._

“Train me.”

Tamrat tilted his head towards him, considering him. He watched Lance for a few seconds, searching for something and, when he found it, he smiled. It was small and soft, and Lance smiled back, excitement rushing inside his veins when Tamrat extended his hand to pull him up, just as he had done the first time.

“It would a pleasure.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

He was going to be trained by a professional.

It was the only thing he could think of while he showered, while he set the table, while he helped her mother around in the kitchen, as she prepared dinner. It was a surreal thought, something that should have never happened to him.

And yet, here he was, with Tamrat’s phone number saved in his phone and a promise to work on a schedule soon.

The smell of the food invaded the kitchen, her mother’s old cassette playing her favourite songs, and even when surrounded by familiarity, it all still felt surreal. Lance wanted to tell his mother, voice his thoughts, because maybe by doing so they would solidify, become something that he could finally believe.

He wanted to, but couldn’t. His mind was a mess of crossed thoughts, Tamrat and Keith tangling inside of his head, wisp of a smoke he wanted to put out, even when his phone remained silently still.

So instead of opening his mouth, he watched his mother cook, a soothing ritual for her, and for him. She was gorgeous, outlined by the slits of a dying sun as she danced in front of the fire, spatula in hand. The breeze entered through the open window and Lance breathed it in, the mix of smells making him close his eyes.

He suddenly felt a rush of affection for his mother, for this place, for his whole family. It ran through his chest like lighting, clinging to his nerves upon arriving to his mind, making him understand that he was _lucky._

Lucky in the prettiest way, because everything would stay the same— his mother’s songs, his father’s photographs, his siblings’ favourite pyjamas— even if he wasn’t there. Even if things didn’t work out for him.

It was a relieving thought, although a punishing one.

Several sharp sounds from the front door startled them both, drawing a curse out of Candela when she dropped her spatula. The knocks were resonant, a rapid succession that made Lance tilt his head, curious, already out of his seat before his mother asked him to get the door.

He wrapped his fingers around the knob, pushing with his shoulder until the door opened, ready to greet the person, but his body froze when he looked up.

It was like seeing a ghost, watching the boy standing in front of the door, bathed in the light of the porch as his chest heaved, breathing harshly, as if he had run for miles.

His body ached fiercely and he thought, numbly, that the boy looked like Keith.

The handle of the door slipped from between his fingers, the breeze rocking it gently, creaking sounds echoing through the air.

“Lance,” the boy breathed out, then, a harsh exhale that woke Lance’s entire being with a shock of electricity, his toes curling.

Keith looked like a wild animal, his eyes searching desperately for a telling sign of Lance’s reaction, body tight with tension as he took in the silence, the slight tremor of his limbs. He was a lion, waiting with contained strength, and Lance would have melted pliantly underneath his claws in a heartbeat, without a single trace of hesitation.

He wouldn’t have run, didn’t want to, so when he saw Keith opening his mouth and closing in again, lost for words, he extended his hand, trembling fingers catching the low light of the porch as he reached for Keith, aching to know if he was real or just a wild and frenzied fragment of his imagination.

He was numb, mind far away from there, unable to wrap itself around what reality presented him with, but he felt everything in his very core, body reacting sweetly to every shift in Keith’s reactions.

Keith was taller now, Lance thought, distractedly, mind trying to ease itself back to functioning, to realising that he wasn’t imagining this. That he wasn’t imagining the way the scars drew against his jaw and cheek, a relief of white and tender skin, nor the way Keith was holding his breath, a flickering light burning in his pupils.

And he definitely couldn’t have imagined the way Keith reached for him in turn, fingertips brushing against each other shyly, trembling. It made something inside of his chest explode, a rush of eagerness seeping through his bones, turning his touch firmer, daring, a delight when he heard Keith’s breath hitch.

Lance still couldn’t breathe, but he wanted Keith to call his name like that again.

He was real, standing on his porch, touching him as he built Lance’s world anew, and Lance still couldn’t wrap his mind around it.

“Lance,” his voice broke around the edges; a shattering miracle, an antithesis to how tenderly he took Lance’s fingers in between his.

He had to close his eyes to gather himself, to feel Keith’s skin more strongly, to hear the wisp of his breathy voice. But he missed Keith’s eyes, tender and scorching, wandering through his face and drinking in every detail, every shift of expression, every gasp of breath.

Keith couldn’t look away, caught in between furrowed brows and quivering lips.

Their imperceptible caress grew strong when Lance’s fingers twitched against his and Keith’s eyes drew away, getting captured by the way their hands looked together, an entangled, trembling mess.

His fingers wandered through the skin, then, brushing against Lance’s inner wrist, feeling for his pulse. Keith trembled when he saw a shudder take over Lance’s body, opening his mouth as he melted.

It was the most beautiful thing Keith had ever seen.

“I’m here,” he whispered, feeling Lance’s raging heartbeat against his fingertips, quivering when his eyes opened.

They stood, unmoving as they watched each other, afraid of shattering the peace, the unusual equilibrium in their own orbit that made gravity make sense. But Keith didn’t care about orbits, never had, so he took a step forward, bringing them closer and making gravity strain. Keith, with his longer hair, with his new piercings in his ear and with his incredibly big and pretty eyes, making Lance’s heart revolt against his chest.

It was infuriating, how much Lance ached, how much he wanted to mess Keith’s hair up, just to bury his fingers there. How much he wanted to trace his scars, brush his lips against Keith’s half-opened ones.

How much he needed his mind to catch up with his body.

Lance took a step forward, too, body desperate for _something_ . Before he knew it, he was sobbing, Keith gasping as they both lurched forward, the gravity of their own orbit pulling them in, in, _in—_

Keith would have described it as the birth of a star. Or its death. Something magnificent, because being able to wrap his arms around Lance’s body, to feel his curves against him and the way he breathed into his neck felt like the creation of the universe on itself.

For Lance, it felt like being born again. Like breathing for the first time. Because that’s what he could do now, breathe without the heavy weight that had threatened to drown him so many times before. He was settled against Keith, tight and close, and could only feel relief washing all over him, wet cheeks finding solace on Keith’s skin.

It was the smell that made Lance lightheaded; more fresh and forest-like, but still indistinctly Keith, indescribable and grounding. It also was the way Keith’s fingers pressed against his lower back, a desperate hold that had Lance gripping Keith’s jacket over his shoulder blades, clutching at it and shivering, letting Keith feel it within his own body.

Keith inhaled, face buried in Lance’s hair and Lance’s hands tightened his grip against his back, knees weak and unresponsive.

“Keith,” he sobbed, warmth making him dizzy when Keith intertwined their fingers together. “Keith.”

Something tugged inside of his chest, urgently, and he drew away from Keith, from his refuge against his neck, to look at his face, to take him in as close as they were. Keith’s eyes were shining with unshed tears, gathering there lazily, almost as if Keith was still too shocked to let them spill.

Keith’s skin was glowing, a reddened touch high on his cheekbones that made Lance’s fingers twitch, longing to brush against it. He freed his hands from everything, including Keith’s tender fingers to do so, slow and deliberately. He felt tears gathering back in his eyes when Keith leaned into his touch, closing his eyes for a moment, vulnerable and gorgeous.

He sighed when Keith’s knuckles came up to brush against his cheek in turn, caress the corner of his mouth with a telling shiver.

“You’re here,” Lance whispered, voice breaking around the edges as he felt Keith’s thumbs gathering the tears over his skin. “How are you here?”

“Hunk texted me,” his voice was just a murmur, a thread of voice spilled into the space separating them. He leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together. “Said you were going to feel down after he left. That me being here would be good for you. And then you texted me.”

Lance’s heart melted, simmered with what was implicit, the easiness with which Keith had driven for hours on end just to be with him. It was insane, Lance thought dizzily, as his hands slipped into Keith’s hair, fingers tangling in his locks.

“So you came here? Just like that?” he asked, breathless, heart sky-rocketing when Keith made a small pleased sound at the tight grip Lance had on his hair.

“Just like that,” he murmured, warmth breath spilling over Lance’s lips and straying his thoughts for a second. “I—I should have answered you. Shouldn’t have left you hanging like that. I’m sorry, Lance, I should have— should have said something before showing up out of the blue—.”

“Shh,” Lance soothed, tapping their noses together, shyly at first, and daringly when Keith leaned into it with a soft whimper. “Stay.”

 _Forever,_ Lance wanted to say, but refrained from it, swallowing when Keith opened his eyes slowly: “Stay for as long as you want.”

And there it was, a tension in the air, in the set of Keith’s shoulder that made Lance’s stomach drop as Keith called his name in a rough voice: “Lance—“

“Lance?” Candela’s voice came from behind them, door still open as she leaned against it, watching with critical eyes the scene. “Is everything alright?”

“M-Mom!” Lance yelped, turning around to face his mother. He let go of Keith, skin crawling and mind screaming for him to come back, to burrow into Keith’s warmth. “Y-yeah, all is good. Just… peachy.”

It wasn’t, not when his hands weren’t on Keith’s skin, but Keith’s presence was still strong against his back, a reminder that he wasn’t going anywhere. Lance could feel Keith breathing, slightly off, and couldn’t help but imagine him with widened eyes, staring at Candela nervously.

Lance ached to look at him, but his mother’s presence was a magnet, her frown something that left Lance standing on his toes.

“T-this is Keith,” Lance stuttered, clearing his throat awkwardly and turning sideways to let his mother have a better look at him. “My—.”

 _Friend._ The word burned in his throat but got tangled in his tongue, refusing to spill from there. He swallowed a gasp when Keith’s fingers hovered over his lower back, fingertips straying to his hip in a slow motion that deafened Lance for a moment.

“Fri—,” Keith cut himself then, looking at Lance with a soft expression, eyebrows furrowed. He seemed to fight a war inside of his head as his fingers stopped drawing patterns on his hip, digging into the skin instead. “Mm. I’m the red paladin. It’s an honour to finally meet you.”

Lance couldn’t stop looking at him. Couldn’t stop from repeating the way Keith had refrained from saying that they were friends inside of his mind. Couldn’t stop his breath from hitching at the implications, even when his mother suddenly lurched forward, winding her arms around Keith and hugging him with a happy cry.

“You’re Keith!! I can’t believe I finally got to meet you!”

Keith’s eyes widened, arms hovering over her figure, fingers twitching, not knowing what to do. Lance watched, while biting his lower lip, the way Keith melted against Candela when she planted a sound kiss against his forehead, when she whispered something into his heated skin.

They stayed like that for a second, until Keith nodded against her, mumbling something that Lance wasn’t able to catch. Candela drew away from him, then, excitement brightening her eyes as her hands settled on Keith’s biceps before asking: “Are you staying, dear?”

Watching the way Keith reddened, the way the heat painted his pain skin when he saw Candela’s bright smile was a miracle for Lance on its own.

“I-I can stay the night wherever. I don’t want to intrude—“

“Shut up, Keith,” Lance chirped in, stepping closer and taking over the space Candela had been before. He extended his hand, still trembling slightly, and took two of Keith’s fingers in between his, breathing out. “You are staying with me.”

The look Keith gave him could rival with a million sunsets, a thousand galaxies, the entire universe, even, because nothing had ever made Lance’s belly flare up like this. Nothing had ever gotten underneath his skin like Keith’s vulnerable and hoping eyes had.

And with Candela entering the house, chatting away to herself about beds and dinners, with Keith’s fingers tightening around his as he smiled softly, Hunk’s words replayed inside his mind in an urgent whisper. A call that made Lance’s hope rage inside his bones.

_Learn to believe it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed!! As always, comments are immensely appreciated❤❤❤


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terribly sorry for the long wait guys! I hope this enormous update makes up for it (im never writing more than 5k again for god's sake). I really appreciate all of your comments, even though I haven't been able to reply to them! I'll get right to it, but just now that i reread them every time i'm feeling down. Thank you for being so kind to me ♡
> 
> Hope you enjoy!!

Candela was instantly smitten with Keith. Lance could see it, in the way her eyes brightened when Keith answered her questions, in the way she made him feel welcomed, giving him all her warmth, almost as if he was her own son. Lance would have felt annoyed at how fast that had happened, if the thought of his mother completely adoring the boy he was in love with didn’t warm his heart as much as it did.

The boy he was in love with.

He had known, for a while, that these feelings ran too deep to be anything but. Had tried to brace himself for what was to come, but nothing could have prepared him for the absolute mess inside of his chest that surged at seeing Keith standing in his kitchen. His heart thudded loudly as he watched them both lean over the pot, Candela explaining what she was making while Keith made an inquiring sound, looking like a little child.

Lance was supposed to be setting the table with his father, but he had been frozen in place for five minutes, forks clutched in his hands, unable to tear his eyes away from Keith. His heart melted at seeing him so relaxed, but the fear laid beneath still; the feeling that this was all a dream nagged at him, and he found himself terrified at the prospect of waking up to find himself wrapped sweatily around lonely sheets. Of waking up with Keith too far away from him.

“He’s pretty handsome, isn’t he?” his father asked as he passed past Lance, snatching the forks out of his still trembling hands.

Was it too crazy to still feel the fire that Keith had woken up underneath his skin with just a touch of his?

Lance took in a harsh breath, trying to focus before his mind wandered to places that would only make him ache. The teasing tone didn’t go unnoticed so he turned to his father, redness spreading through his cheeks at how easily he could be read. Lance found him smiling, leaning against the already set table as he watched him with a slight tilt of his head.

“Papa…”

He didn’t know what to say, because yes, Keith was unfairly handsome, but he was tender, too, loyal and caring, and everything that made Lance’s knees tremble with adoration. It was madness, to know that Keith wasn’t his to love, to know just how easily someone could see the way Lance was drowning for him.

“I’m just saying,” his voice became softer as he made his way to Lance. He stood in front of him, watching Lance’s trembling lip for a moment before leaning down to leave a sweet kiss on his forehead. “You should be happy. Do what makes you happy.”

“I don’t— It’s just—“

Lance was going to do it. He had promised himself he would do it. He would talk to Keith, tell him all about this weakness and vulnerability, about the feelings that simmered inside his veins, spreading throughout his body, leaving his mind in a haze.

He would do it.

But he was so scared, still.

“Lance, the boy has travelled to see you. Damn, the boy is even listening to your mother talk about dinner!” Lance chuckled at that, knowing just how passionate she was, and how not many people could handle it. “He’s staying. He wants to stay. You can’t keep on being clueless forever, son.”

His father knew him so well, knew his stutters and doubts like they were his own, almost like a reflection in a mirror. That was why his words resonated so powerfully in Lance’s being, why he could calm him down in a matter of minutes.  

“Thanks, papa,” Lance said, looking up at him with a small smile.

Everything was always easier when his family was around, when he leaned on them to catch his balance. But Lance didn’t want to do that, _couldn’t,_ not when they had grieved him for so long, thinking him dead. Lance just wanted his family to be happy, to feel as safe as he had hoped for while fighting the empire. He couldn’t burden them with his fears, after everything.

“Fernando, dear, come get the food, please!” her mother exclaimed from the kitchen, cutting off whatever Lance’s father could have said next.

“Coming!” he shouted, ruffling Lance’s hair as he went.

He spluttered, pouting at the childish treatment and trying to get his hair back in order. He shifted his eyes to stare at the kitchen once again and he snorted at what he found there. Keith was trying to convince Candela that there was no need to call Fernando when he was there to help her, but Candela didn’t budge, sending him a sweet and threatening look at the same time before patting his shoulder and telling him to go sit down at the table.

Candela was a menace when she wanted to be, even more when guests were involved. She wanted to treat Keith like a king, to have him sit and not move a single finger as she fed him. It had always been normal in his family— a tradition, if you would call it— and seeing Keith confused and fumbling made Lance feel giddy, made him feel excited at the prospect of Keith learning all about his family, becoming a part of it.

 _Clever boy_ , Lance thought, absentmindedly, watching Keith practically run away from the kitchen at Candela’s orders. He looked chastised and Lance smiled fondly, thoughts becoming a mess when Keith looked back at him, giving him a small smile.

“Hey,” he greeted, coming to stand closer to Lance; so close that the point of their shoes were touching, so close that Lance felt the need to inhale harder. “Is it always like this?”

“My mom trying to control everything and trying to make you relax? Yes,” Lance chuckled, watching the way Keith smiled, the way he casted his eyes downwards and shuffled in his spot.

“I like them,” Keith said, softly. He was watching the rug underneath their feet like it was a star waiting to be born, and Lance wanted to sneak his fingers underneath his chin and tilt his head up, so he could watch the way the lights of his house drew against Keith’s skin. “They are sweet.”

Pride filled his chest, almost violently, and he had to suppress the tightness that had installed itself at the base of his throat. For Lance, his family had always been like the solar system; so different when comparing between each other, but terrifyingly in tune. And Keith was getting into their orbit, a fiery star that had started to warm Lance’s family, protecting them and letting himself be pulled along their gravity.

“I’m glad,” Lance whispered, closing his eyes and letting a watered sound out. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Fernando cut off their conversation then, making small hurt noises as he tried to get to the table with the casserole without burning himself. Keith’s hands came up to brace against Lance’s hips, to ease him out of the way and Lance let him, relishing in the contact even after his father had set everything on the table without incident.

The smell of the food filled the air, warmth heating their skins as they stared at each other. Lance’s hands had curled just above the edge of Keith’s trousers, and he flushed, tongue sandpaper— like and pulse fluttering into his fingertips.

They were so close it felt _wrong_ not to touch, not to indulge in it, at least for a few seconds. So Lance rocked on the balls of his feet and, in a daring movement, leaned his head forward slightly, to smell Keith’s scent, to feel his proximity.

Lance startled when Candela called them all to sit down, body tightening as he drew away, noticing the way Keith chased after him, almost imperceptibly. He turned away quickly, going for one of the chairs to sit down so he could try to stop his heart from bursting out, try to keep himself together.

It wasn’t fair, the easiness they had to put their hands on the other, the way they gravitated towards each other. It wasn’t fair, Lance thought as Keith took a seat beside him, knees knocking softly underneath the table.

A noticeable flush curled high on his cheeks, a crystallized moment of weakness that Lance wanted to engrave in his mind for as long as his soul lasted. Lance bit his lip and nudged Keith with his leg, fingers curling tightly on the fork as Keith nudged back with a little smile.

Lance’s sibling came running, Candela and Fernando taking a seat, and suddenly the house was full of sound, laughs and chatter alike, and if Lance had to go one day, he wanted to go like this. Surrounded by the people he loved the most, as they were at their easiest.

 

* * *

 

 

Candela had always reprimanded Lance for staring.

He had been a curious child, and had treated everything with wonder and awe, even people. It had earned him more than one awkward situation; people demanding to know why he was staring, why he seemed so keyed up on small things about them –sharp angles, soft curves, perky noses…—. He had learned to look without being obvious, but right now? Right now he felt as if all of those years teaching himself to be subtle had gone to waste.

He couldn’t stop staring at Keith.

His food laid untouched in front of him, fork held loosely in his hand as he watched the way Keith laughed at something Candela said, nose scrunching up. He looked like something taken out of a daydream, all flushed and tender, laughter ringing in the space between them. Like he belonged there, at their tiny table, chatting with his father about photography and sighing in delight at his mom’s food.

Lance thanked every deity he knew for letting him experience Keith like this, comfortable and happy, instead of cold and bleeding his life out. He shuddered at the thought, at the echoes of distant screams that pierced his mind. There was a flowing dread right there, in his chest, wanting to leave him breathless.

He tightened his grip on the fork, mind hazy. The plate in front of him wasn’t there anymore, nor the table, nor his family, and he was paralyzed in a place where he couldn’t reach Keith, where he could only watch as he screamed in pain, where he—

 

Keith knocked their knees together, softly, snapping Lance out of his thoughts, taking him out of that place. The plate was back in front of him, still full to the brim, and the sounds of his family’s chatter began to filter through his mind again.

Lance blinked slowly, feeling the last traces of panic holding onto his nerves before disappearing. He tried to focus on something, and was rewarded to see that Keith was already watching him; eyes soft but intent. It was almost as if he knew the way Lance got caught up inside his head, the way the world disappeared to give way to darker memories.

Keith leaned closer, until their legs were touching completely, and watched Lance with a hawk—eyed look, searching for any sign of discomfort. Lance felt himself settling back into his skin under Keith’s attention, at the way the warmth of Keith’s skin against his seemed to go directly to his cheeks.

His grip on the fork grew loose again and he chuckled, punch-drunk, when he noticed that Keith was almost out of his chair. Keith rolled his eyes and fidgeted, trying to get comfortable in that new position. He wanted to keep touching Lance, but he certainly didn’t want to have his butt hanging out of the chair for the rest of the dinner.

“You can move your chair, you know,” Lance whispered, fighting the giggle that was threatening to come out.

Keith titled his head down, a smile playing on the edge of his lips, and pinched Lance on his side. Just like a child.

“Shut up,” he murmured as he moved his chair, a shy touch of red high on his cheeks.

They watched each other for a moment, fighting off smiles that emerged anyway. It was a second in heaven, where the rest of the world blurred and the only thing to focus on was the way the other’s eyes tried to keep from wandering. Lance’s sister’s voice shattered their personal paradise when it rose from the chatter, accompanied by her mouth full and widened eyes.

“Keith!!”

And Keith jumped slightly in his seat, turning his head to give María all of his attention. Lance loved him for that, for being so gentle and attentive with his siblings. For treating the ones that made his life easier, the ones that kept him always above the drowning point, with an easiness he wouldn’t have expected from Keith.

 

He would have left the room if he had known that watching the way Keith managed to pull a high giggle out of María and a sharp smile from Leo would make him fall in love with Keith all over again.

“Yes, María?”

“I like you lots! You are very pretty,” she said, holding her spoon upwards, staring at Keith pensively as she swallowed. “But I don’t like your hair.”

The room was silent for a second, the time it took for the words to settle in, and then Lance was barking out a laugh, fork slipping from his hand and onto the table as he leaned his head backwards. His whole body shook with the force of his laugh, and Keith swatted his arm lightly, grumbling something Lance wished he had heard.

“That’s my girl,” Lance managed to fit in between breathless laughs, loving the way she smiled proudly, with the corners of her mouth covered in food.

Lance lolled his head to the side, still shaking with laughter, to watch Keith’s reaction. He didn’t expect the way Keith was already watching him with soft eyes and a bitten lip, nor did he expect that to feel like someone had taken a hold of his ribcage and _pulled._

“María, don’t give the poor boy grief,” Fernando smiled, sharing an exasperated look with Candela and shaking his head, as if he couldn’t believe the kind of children he had raised.

Keith tried to bite his smile off, watching as Lance struggled to straighten on his chair. His eyes wandered down Lance’s side, before rapidly coming back up. It left Lance frozen, with a pleasant buzz underneath his skin that didn’t even lessen when Keith turned his head away, depriving Lance of the sight.

María and Keith locked gazes at that, each from one end of the table, expressions blank and serious until Keith stuck his tongue out at her, making María giggle in delight. His whole family laughed, but Lance was stuck in his chair, with the air knocked out of him as his eyes tracked the movement of Keith’s tongue.

He felt warmth spreading throughout his whole body, flared fire liking at his belly, making his breath hitch. His cheeks were reddening, he knew, and he couldn’t do anything but let his mind race because Keith Kogane had a goddamn _tongue piercing_ he had known nothing about.

He shifted in his seat, leg dragging against Keith’s, and tried not to self-combust. Lance was holding himself together precariously, willing the sudden rush of eagerness to disappear, willing the curl of his toes to create something that wasn’t a spark of anticipation.

If his mother hadn’t chosen that moment to talk, Lance was sure Keith would have found out. It wasn’t difficult to put together; the heaviness of his breath, the awed look with which he had followed the line of Keith’s profile, to see just how much he had changed and just how much he _hadn’t_ throughout the whole dinner. It was obvious, to whoever had eyes and was watching closely that Lance was too gone to be saved.

He exhaled quietly in relief when he found himself calmer, Keith still warm and solid against him, and his mother’s voice still strong and lively. It was when he finally managed to tune in the conversation that he felt dismay clogging his throat.

“You can stay as long as you want, Keith,” she was saying, the perfect example of a tender woman. And because she also had a wonderful timing, she asked the question that sent Lance into the beginning of a heart attack. “But would you mind sleeping with Lance on his bed? The guest room is a complete mess, my dear.”

If Lance thought he couldn’t turn redder, this proved him wrong. He stared at his plate resolutely, feeling Keith shift beside him.

“Mm. No, not at all,” he said, voice a little off, before looking at Lance and taking in his stiff posture. “If Lance is fine with it.”

The understatement of the century. He had dreamed about Keith getting tangled in his sheets as many times as his lungs had taken in oxygen, had dreamed about letting his fingers get lost in Keith’s hair, of making him shiver with pleasure instead of terror.

He was fine with it. What he didn’t know was if Keith was fine with the continuous flow of wanting that wrapped Lance’s mind in cotton lava.

“I-It’s fine. I don’t mind,” he cleared his throat, still staring at his plate and refusing to meet Keith’s eyes.

Maybe Keith would be able to find something in there, in his eyes, and Lance couldn’t risk it. Couldn’t help but to be afraid of the thought of Keith taking him apart without knowing if he would build him back together or leave him hanging with the pieces.

“Perfect then!” Candela clapped her hands together, delighted. She stood from the table and that was everyone’s cue to start clearing up the table, dinner officially finished.

Keith sat there for a moment, confused as to why everyone was moving around, taking plates and cups with them. Lance took pity on him, of the way his widened eyes made him look unfairly innocent, and took Keith’s plate to place it above his own.

He leaned down, in and closer, balancing the plates on his hands and willing himself to not get distracted by the way Keith’s hair tickled his nose before playfully whispering against his ear: “Down, boy.”

He heard the gasp, felt the sudden tremor that shook the line of Keith’s shoulders and couldn’t help the sudden spark of smugness that was born inside his chest. Lance drew away, biting his lip when he noticed the way Keith’s hands had tightened over the tablecloth. He held the plates closer to him, trying to keep himself from reaching out, and turned away to trot into the kitchen, easily avoiding a collision with his siblings.

He loved this. The easiness with which he gravitated towards Keith, the aching need to protect the other, to shield him from the world. Lance loved the rush— actions over words— and wished, so fervently, that he could forget all the languages he knew, just so his mind could stop racing, just so he wouldn’t have to doubt every single touch.

He put the plates on the sink, taking advantage of the sudden quiet to close his eyes and breathe. He stretched his neck lazily, sighing when it cracked.

Easy, he thought, as a mantra, easyeasyeasyeasy—

“The food was delicious, Candela,” came Keith’s voice back from the living room. Lance turned around and watched Keith stand in front of his mother, holding a cup like it was his lifesaver.

“Aren’t you a sweetheart?” she replied, sweetly, taking the cup out of Keith’s hands and sweeping one of his locks out of his eyes. “Sit down, dear.”

“But—“

“Keith.”

Lance’s mother was a lively woman, a tender one, but Lance knew that tone, and it only meant trouble for the one at the end of it.

“Don’t make him sit down, Ma. We are going to wash the dishes,” he said, loud enough to be heard, coming to Keith’s rescue.

It was a miracle that two hot headed people like them had managed not to get in each other’s faces. He had a feeling that Keith respected Candela too much to actually go against her wishes, but his instinct to do what he believed was right was too strong to not struggle against her.

It was cute, the way Keith wanted to help because he felt like he had to pay his family something back.

“Lance—“

He tried not to make himself look smaller when his mother’s sulking gaze focused on him so he looked at Keith instead, at the way he was taking him in. He saw the way Keith’s hands twitched at his sides, the way his mouth was half-opened, and smiled when Keith startled at the sound of his voice, too caught up in his own thoughts: “Right, Keith?”

“Y-Yeah, of course.”

“Then we will leave you guys to it. We have to watch that new season, don’t we?” Fernando appeared from behind Candela then, his words getting the children screaming and running out of the room to get their respective spots in front of the TV.

He winded his arms around his wife’s body, nuzzling her cheek and whispering what were surely sweet nothings into her ear. She frowned for a second before she began giggling, letting herself melt against Fernando with an easiness Lance had always been jealous of.

“Okay, okay,” she breathed out, handing the cup back to Keith in a gesture of trust that not everyone would understand. “I want the tableware shining like diamonds.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Keith replied and when Candela laughed, Lance melted on the spot.

She turned away from them without another word, Fernando leading her with a hand on her lower back. He closed the kitchen door behind them, and everything suddenly turned _too_ silent.

“Let’s get to it, then,” Lance said, voice cheery and loud, trying to get a grip on his nerves.

He inhaled sharply when Keith made his way to him, eyes intent with something Lance couldn’t decipher. It was with the sound of Keith’s steps that he realised just how close they would be, just how easy it would be for him to brush his fingers against Keith’s when passing a plate over.

This was going to be the end of him.

 

* * *

 

 

Dipping his hands into the water filling the sink wasn’t the same as swimming. It couldn’t compare to the strength the set of his shoulders had to offer to do so for hours on end, but letting his hands soak had a certain degree of calmness that kept his mind from wandering.

It was nice to feel the smooth surface of the plates, to pass them over to Keith and let their fingers touch for a brief moment, anticipating the skipped beat that always came with it. They had picked up a rhythm and Lance could only smile when he noticed, reminiscence of how they had been so in synch with each other in the battlefield.

He handed another plate to Keith, risking a glance at him when their fingers brushed. It shouldn’t have been surprising to find Keith already staring at him, but it was. It was, and it felt like a rush, like missing a step and feeling your stomach drop into the ground. It was a sign of weakness too, a sign of how much Lance adored Keith’s eyes, the way they took him in over and over again. A shudder of delight ran through his spine at the attention and he knew, with startling clarity, that he would never tire of catching Keith’s eyes with his own.

“Why are you looking at me?” he asked with a cracked voice, fingers slipping against the plate. Fumbling.

It was difficult to keep himself in check when his heart was trying to break his ribcage, when Keith’s reddened skin seemed too tender for his finger’s not to twitch— longing to brush against it. Instead, they slipped against the plate again, Keith catching it with practiced ease, taking it gently from Lance.

“You're smiling.”

Lance looked away then, unable to handle how easily Keith had clipped another one of the strings keeping him together, the ones outlining his ribcage. He sought refuge in the soapy water, dipping his hands in it and realizing, with dismay, that that had been the last plate to wash.

“You are, too,” he murmured, hands abandoning the protection of the water to take the cloth beside him.

He didn’t know where he had gotten the courage to say those words. His

bravado seemed to crumble when Keith treated him softly, but there was something still there, the itch of a push and pull that always made Lance speak, no matter how dangerous it was for him.

No matter how much he could give away with just a mere slip.

He heard Keith setting the plate down on the counter and waited, for a second, before turning his head to look at him. He was drawn to Keith like people were drawn to the Earth’s core by gravity. It was inevitable.

Ineffable.

Like the feeling Keith’s fingers twitching over the counter awoke in him.

“You actually do,” the way Keith’s hair curled at the edge of his jaw held all of his attention, even when his mind had begun racing, jumping in between cliffs and making him utter words that weren’t meant to drip from his mouth.

Keith tilted his head, a sound of confusion escaping his lips. Lance almost missed, distracted as he was by the way Keith’s hands were sliding across the counter to get closer. The words got stuck in his throat, the slow approach of Keith’s body overwhelming him. Panic tangled his tongue when he realized that it was impossible for Keith to have made the same leap Lance’s brain had. That Keith didn’t know what Lance was talking about, and that he would have to put it into words.

There was a fluttering warmth that dove down, directly into the pit of his stomach and Lance knew that his words would fall all over the place, weak and scattered, before he even opened his mouth.

“Y-You said once that you would… Um. That you would try look even better when I was a-around,” he stuttered, feeling for the edge of the counter to hold onto. His eyes dipped down into Keith’s collar, thundering sparks twisting nervously in his stomach. “You do.”

Everything was static—bodies frozen in shock—, silence stretching between them until he noticed the flush on Keith’s skin, covering his neck and going all the way down into his shirt. Lance’s breath hitched, eyes coming up to engrave in his mind Keith’s widened eyes, his slightly opened mouth, the way the flush gathered on the tip of his nose.

Keith tilted his head down, hands coming up from over the counter to press against his eyes and, without the pull of Keith’s gaze, Lance found himself tumbling, doubting, and thinking, _this is it, i fucked up, this is—_

“Don’t say things like that,” Keith said, breathless, cutting Lance’s entire line of thought with the simple sight of a small disbelieving smile peeking out from underneath his hand.

Keith chuckled then, shaking his head and letting his hands fall from his face, allowing Lance to appreciate the sudden brightness of his eyes. He was buzzing with energy all of a sudden, the set of his shoulder strung high and his hands twitching until he buried them in the pockets of his pants, curling them there to keep himself from doing something stupid.

“You don’t have the slightest idea of what you are doing to me, do you?”

And if Keith was breathless in that moment, then Lance had never known what oxygen was. The words sent something so powerful scratching down his back that he trembled with the force of it, with the mere thought of having any kind of effect in Keith.

“Keith—”

And because it was him, the Red Paladin, the one with the instincts and the impulsivity, he decided to do something stupid anyway. He uncurled one of his hands, taking it out from his pocket and stepping closer, reaching out until he could finally brush his knuckles against Lance’s cheek.

“I will get my things from the car, okay?” Keith murmured, too close, enough to make Lance’s knees tremble.

He brushed a finger down Lance’s face to get to the edge of his jaw, to linger there and appreciate how Lance seemed to melt under the touch, how his mouth opened slightly to give way for a breathy sound.

“Okay,” Lance mouthed, unable to find his voice. He caught a wisp of Keith’s smell and held onto it when Keith’s fingers drew away from him, when he was already halfway through the front door, footsteps loud in the silence of the kitchen. Held onto it even when his heart seemed to be clawing at his veins, fluttering painfully against his ribs.

The smell clung to his skin, so entirely Keith in its intensity and sharpness that it made Lance curl his toes, close his eyes and inhale. It eased the knots from his chest with a wildness that could only belong to Keith, and he let himself go, hand clutching his shirt above the place where his heart could be heard, waiting for him to come back.

 

* * *

 

 

If Lance thought Keith would still feel so intense when he came back, he was wrong.

He seemed calmer, the set of his shoulders relaxed as he came to stand beside Lance, one hand inside his pocket and the other carrying a backpack. He didn’t feel as intense, but Lance felt the burn still there, tentative. It was slower, dimmed, like the way a predator knew they didn’t have to run to catch their prey. It sent a thrill running down his spine, gathering at his lower back, where Keith’s hand hovered as they went up the stairs to get to Lance’s room.

His family had been too busy watching TV to notice them sneaking up and Lance was glad for it. It spared him from the teasing looks his parents had surely prepared, as if he didn’t have enough in his plate already with trying to stay coherent, with trying not to be overwhelmed by the hot point of sharpness that Keith was in his conscience.

That feeling became clearer when the door of Lance’s room closed behind them, leaving them pressing their sides against the other as they surveyed the room. It was dimly illuminated-- light coming from the window and from underneath the door--, just enough to see, and Lance didn’t feel the need to turn the lights on. Never did, since he found comfort in the softness that the dark allowed.

It was then, surrounded by that comfort, that the realization that they were finally alone, _completely_ alone, had Lance leaning against the door for support. He glanced at Keith, allowing his eyes to linger in his profile, in the way the few lights in the room highlighted it.

He took a deep breath, and then: “So… welcome to the place where the magic happens.”

He drew away from the door and stepped further into the room, hands coming up in a dramatic gesture to show off the space as he walked. He stopped in front of his desk, just beside the bed, and leaned his hip on it, nerves scrambling in his belly when Keith followed him with an amused expression. His eyes were wandering around the walls, taking everything in. Taking in everything that was such a clear reflection of Lance.

 “What magic?” Keith asked, settling the bag on the chair of Lance’s desk before looking at him, one eyebrow drawn up.

And Lance bit his lip, because he had always liked that expression on Keith, the one that was pushy with the edges of a challenge. It was a memory, a small fragment his mind decided to gift him with to notice just how much his feelings had changed.

Then, he would have loved to wipe that expression off, make it sorer with a few well-placed words. Now, he just wanted to feel it melt against his lips.   

“Me,” he said, instead of closing the space that separated them.

His fingertips burned with the itching need to touch Keith, with the effort it was taking him to hold back, but the way Keith laughed, eyes closing as he shook his head in disbelief, made all the ache worth it.

“I’m glad,” Keith slipped his hands into his own hair, just behind his neck, still smiling as he continued. “I’m glad you are the same.”

“The same?”

“I was… afraid that something would have changed,” he said, voice becoming soft and eyes lowering to the desk. “We ended up being so close because of Voltron and then everything ended… and then we were talking again, and I just--”

He was rambling, and Lance knew that Keith could ramble when he was talking about his feelings, but it had been so long since he heard it, been so long since he experienced the tenderness that came from Keith trusting him…

He waited for Keith to continue but he seemed caught up in his head, nipping at his lips and becoming tenser by the moment, so Lance decided to help, to push him a little.

“We aren’t just bound because of Voltron, Keith,” he had said Keith’s name so many times, and it never tasted the same. The way it rolled off his tongue this time made him think of necessary courage, of taking a leap and not closing your eyes. “You’re too important to be just that.”

The evening had been a rollercoaster of emotions. It had made Lance dizzy, weak in the knees and fuzzy inside in the same way drops did. And even though he hated them -- hated the sensation that came with them-- he couldn’t deny that the way Keith seemed in awe whenever Lance said something heartfelt had been his favourite drops of the night.

“You’re indispensable to me,” he continued, struggling to quieten the whispered noise in the back of his mind, that _I need you, I need you, I need you---._ “Besides, we are still partners, right?”

There were a few seconds of silence, of tightened expectation and then, in the softest voice Lance had ever heard: “Of course we are.”

Their eyes locked together for a fraction of second before Keith cleared his throat, quickly casting his eyes down to stare at one of the pictures on Lance’s desk. It was the one with Pidge, Hunk and him in their Garrison’s uniforms, from when Voltron was still a funny name that had nothing to do with their lives.

“Do you want to change?” Lance asked, because he had no filter, and because he couldn’t handle the little smile that played at the edge of Keith’s lips as he looked at the picture.

He blinked, slowly, before his gaze fell on Lance once again.

“You don’t mind if I…?” he asked, gesturing to his clothes, and Lance felt sparkles thriving upon his skin.

“No, of course not. The bathroom is--” Lance cut himself when he saw Keith’s hands coming backwards, to grab at the fabric clinging to his back and pull. “Over there,” he finished, softly, words tangling in his tongue at the sight.

The way Keith took his shirt off was an art in itself. Something that could belong in a museum, displayed just to put ancient artists to shame. He seemed carved right out of marble, torso rippling as he tried to get the shirt over his head, frame twisting in a way that twisted Lance’s breath in turn.

The shirt came off, revealing a set of shoulders that Lance wanted to claw his way into. He was burning just underneath his skin, simmering desperately, so much that he could only swallow the knot that had tangled in his throat. Hard.  

Keith’s hair, a mess even before he pulled the shirt off, curled around his cheekbones and Lance watched, entranced, the way it framed his curved lines. There was just a hint of a reddening touch on his skin, something that, along with the way the pants rode low on his hips, made Bernini's work pale in comparison.

Keith was a work of art, and he took Lance's breath right out of him, twisting the warm strings in his belly until his knees trembled, until the only thing he could do was drag his eyes away from him to stare at the ceiling, turning away to keep himself together and fight the blush down.

Don’t make it weird, don’t make it weird, he chanted inside his mind, hearing the distinctive sound of pants caressing skin before touching the floor. Lance gulped air, silently, praying to any god that could hear him to have mercy on him.

There were more sounds, fabrics brushing together, a zipper moving, a soft inhale and then Keith’s voice-- snapping Lance right out of his reverie.

“I’ll just--” Keith fumbled, retrieving his phone from the bag and leaning down to straighten the clothes he had just pushed into it. “Wait for you in bed?”

“Y-Yeah. Okay,” Lance responded, swallowing once again and committing the mistake of turning back to look at Keith, catching him as he made his way to the bed.

His nightshirt laid just shy above the edge of his black boxers and it took all of Lance’s self-control to not let his eyes wander down to the back of Keith’s thighs, to the scars he knew rested there.

Lance inhaled sharply, closing his eyes and tilting his head away, thinking that Keith and his tendency to make everything difficult would kill him. The bed creaked under Keith’s weigh and Lance tensed, left alone to change into a nightshirt that was on the bed; too far away from him to be comfortable.

He could go into the bathroom and change in there, without the edge of panic proving at him, but the thought of _pushing_ , of trying to prove himself that Keith’s eyes couldn’t lie got the best of him.

He inhaled, looking at his desk intently. Keith was on his phone, sitting on the edge of the bed, unaware of the way Lance’s heart had gotten stuck at the base of his throat. Keith’s bag was right there, half opened on the chair, and all Lance wanted to do was put his hand in, feel the soft cotton of his clothes in between his fingertips and let Keith’s smell envelop him once again.

He shook his head, trying to clear his head and find the courage to undo the buttons of his pants, to let them slip down his legs onto the floor. His toes curled against it, thoughts straying to paths that made him shiver, made him desperate to breathe normally again. He was going to sleep with Keith. Beside him, as he had wished for so desperately.

Eyes closing on its own, Lance let himself get lost for a second in that thought, let himself imagine how tender and warm with sleep Keith could become, how beautiful he would look with a peaceful expression on his face.

His fingers played with the edge of the buttons, hesitantly, trying to make up his mind. He wanted to get in bed, tangle his legs with Keith’s and let himself go, let his worries drown underneath Keith’s presence, but god, was he allowed to do that?

His cheek tingled then, reminding him of the way Keith had lingered there, sweetly, a soft touch that he had tried to prolong. His eyes had been burning, a slow flame that had dried Lance’s mouth, a sweet pull tightening inside his chest. Keith was tapping on his phone now, the sound offering solace to Lance’s crippled nerves, and he couldn’t help but think if Keith’s skin tingled, still, with the memory of their contact.

Lance wasn’t imagining things— couldn’t be imagining the way they gravitated towards the other, the way the tension seemed to suffocate them. He couldn’t be imagining but, even if he was, he was tired of second-guessing everything.

Tired of not letting himself sink in Keith’s tenderness.

His pants slipped to the floor, scratching the skin on the way down. They pooled around his ankles, caging him, but Lance paid them no mind, his fingers grasping the edge of his shirt and pulling at it. He was trembling, frame shaking as he got it over his head, as he let it fall onto the desk messily.

He was left bare, feeling strange in his childhood room. He had never felt like this, never felt the sweet vulnerability of being almost naked near the person that scratched fire just underneath his ribs. His boxers felt tight on his skin, and as he turned around to search for his nightshirt, a soft gasp flooded the room, reverberating through the silence.

Goosebumps broke in his skin, a prickling sensation that travelled along his spine, curling at its end warmly when he caught Keith looking at him, mouth half-opened and eyes wandering through the expanse of skin.

Lance wouldn’t have been able to explain how it felt to watch Keith become entranced by his body. It was the sheer fierceness of a volcano’s eruption, having an entire galaxy contained inside of your chest, waiting to be spilled from in between ribs. It felt like being dangerous, powerful, an overwhelming force.

It felt incredible.

His skin was on fire, pulsing under Keith’s gaze, agonizingly sweet. His mouth was still slightly open, almost as if he had forgotten what to do with it, almost as if Lance’s body was worth becoming speechless.

Lance bit his lower lip, turning completely towards Keith and stepping out of his pooling pants, forgetting all about them when Keith gasped once again, eyes darting to Lance’s face as he blinked rapidly. Lance’s lungs strained at the sudden pressure in his ribcage, at the sudden rush of fondness, of _wanting_ that spread inside of him through aching veins.

He was going to die, drowned by his searing love for Keith, Lance thought, stopping in front of Keith’s form, still hunched on the bed. He could see the blush over his cheeks, could see the way Keith’s nose had turned red. Could see why he adored Keith to this extent.

“Sorry,” Keith murmured, then, eyes dropping to the floor, shyly.

He was apologizing for looking at Lance with awe, for watching him so intensively it had made him rock out of his own skin. He was apologizing for doing something that Lance had already deemed impossible.

His mind was swimming in between bright lights, delight settling on the pit of his stomach as he watched Keith tremble on the edge of his bed. His hands curled into fists over his thighs and Lance thought, wildly, that he wanted those hands on his skin.

“I don’t mind,” Lance whispered, like a secret, into the space between them.

Keith blinked, uncurled his hands and curled them again before looking up at him.

“I do,” and it sounded wrecked, just as the way his hand began to search for Lance’s nightshirt over the sheets. He handed it over to Lance when he found it, trying to ignore the electrifying rush of Lance’s fingers curling around his for a second. “I--

He cut himself off, watching Lance put the shirt on, watching how the shirt caught on Lance’s skin, gathering there in the form of creases. His fists uncurled, tension slowly draining from his shoulders as he reached out to grasp the edges of the shirt. He pulled at it slowly, observing with rapt attention the way Lance’s skin disappeared underneath.

Lance sighed dreamily, curving his body to let Keith touch-- his fingers a balsam against his skin. It was with a groan that Keith leaned forward, burying his forehead against Lance’s belly. It made Lance’s entire body shiver as a gasp tumbled out of his mouth. They were so vulnerable like that, both sighing there as Keith’s fingers stayed just above the edge of Lance’s boxers.

“I have missed you,” he whispered, burying himself deeper in the warmth that was Lance. The familiarity, even though he had never touched him like this.

Lance hesitated, the rational part of his brain begging him to be careful, to not let his emotions take control. But Keith was nuzzling against him, tension melting off his shoulders just before his eyes, and Lance could do nothing else that indulge himself, burying his finger in Keith’s locks, cradling his head closer.

“I have missed you, too,” Lance whispered right back, feeling finally at ease.

He noticed the way Keith was slumping against him, whole body pliant, and decided to trace the edge of his jaw to catch his attention.

“Hey, buddy,” he said, softly, chuckling when Keith murmured sleepily and leaned against the contact.

Lance felt dizzy with tenderness, with the need to take care of Keith, keep him there cradled against his belly to stop the world from hurting him.

“We have to sleep, you know,” Lance continued, carefully handling Keith until he managed to lay him down on his side, getting the pillow underneath his head.

The reaction was immediate.

“Don’t go,” Keith mumbled against the pillow, fingers twitching over the sheets as if searching for Lance.

Lance slid into the bed, taking Keith’s hand when he was finally settled to kiss his knuckles, one by one, dragging it out to make the explosion inside of himself last. He melted against the bed, toes curling at Keith’s relaxed expression. He watched the tiredness and peacefulness there in equal parts, eyes wandering until all of his thoughts were filled with the boy in front of him.

A breathy sound untangled itself from Lance’s tongue when Keith curled his fingers into his hair, pulling sweetly until they were so close, so close, that Lance could feel Keith’s breathing against his forehead.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Lance murmured, letting his hand fall against the curve of Keith’s neck to curl there.

  
And even though his heart was beating throughout his whole body, when he closed his eyes, he went easily.

 

* * *

 

 

Waking up in the middle of the night was routine for Lance. The nightmares and all that came with them were routine too, but, that night, he found his own mind blissfully quiet, a constant shade of darkness curling behind his eyelids. So when he woke up, slowly instead of rushing, wrapped in warmth to find his room still dimly illuminated, he wondered why.

He wondered why, until he heard the mumbling, until he felt Keith’s figure trembling beside him.

“No, no, no, please— “

Lance turned his head, blinking rapidly to get his eyes accustomed to the darkness, heart racing at Keith’s whimpered words. He had strayed away from him during the night, body curling just at the end of the bed with one hand extended towards the warmth of Lance’s body. Fondness melted just in between his ribs, blending bitterly with distress when he saw Keith’s anguished face.

His hands were clutching the sheets so tightly they had turned white, whole body suspended in coiled tension as his breath came out uneven. Lance’s heart broke at the edges at seeing him like that, the pieces falling into his stomach; a sharp collision that made him tremble alongside Keith.

He reached out for him, fingers curling around Keith’s wrist to feel his pulse, wild and stammering, to settle his own. Lance nudged him softly, moving across the bed and positioning himself to hover just above Keith.

“Keith, wake up,” he whispered, smoothing his hand over Keith’s inner wrist when he groaned, legs kicking against the mattress.

“Not him, not him— Don’t touch him, just…”

“Keith, hey…” Lance’s hand wandered throughout his arm to his chest, settling to feel his pulse there instead.

He was tender underneath his fingers, warmth seeping from his shirt to tangle just around Lance’s skin. Keith shook then, a choked scream tangling in his throat. He trashed above the sheets, hair curling above his cheeks, framing the feverish flush of his face.

“L-Lance!” he cried out, the sound gripping Lance right by his ribcage, as Keith’s body twisted underneath his palm before leaning up, startling himself awake.

It was chaos, for a moment; Keith trying to get away, bracing himself on the mattress to cower against the bedframe with wide, unfocused eyes. He was lost still in the smoky threads of the nightmare that clung to his mind as he hunched on himself, toes curling, tension gathering there. His hands came up to bury themselves in his hair, to pull at it with a sob.

“Please,” he rasped out, shaking and shaking and shaking.

And Lance was there in an instant—without even thinking about it—, tangling his fingers along Keith’s in his hair, making shushing sounds as his other hand settled on his neck, remembering the way Keith had melted beside him at the caresses. Lance crawled closer, leaning their foreheads together to feel Keith breathe, to feel the hot puffs of air against his lips.

“Oh, Keith,” he whispered, tears burning underneath his eyelids as he touched the tips of their noses together. “You’re safe. You’re far, far away from that place, love. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

The fierce words dissolved Keith’s tension into soft lines, made him blink slowly, hands loosening their grip in his own hair. He startled when he touched Lance’s skin instead, warm and soft, soothing the coldness in his belly as he looked up into Lance’s waiting eyes.

“Lance?” he asked, voice rough but soft, so soft Lance couldn’t help sighing into the space between them.

“Yes. It’s me,” he carded Keith’s hair backwards with his fingers, wanting to see him, to burn the image into his mind. “It’s me.”

Lance swallowed, trying to work around the knot in his throat at watching Keith lean into his touch, half-lidded eyes focused on him as tears slipped out, painting a bright trail on Keith’s skin.

“Are you really here?”  

He exhaled harshly, crawling even closer to Keith, wanting to melt against him until he stopped sounding like a lost child, until he knew that he was safe there inside his arms.

“Keith,” he murmured, ghosting his thumb against Keith’s cheek. The wounded sound that got out of his mouth made Lance dizzy with sadness. “I’m here with you. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Let me…” Keith choked on his words, hands coming up to trace the skin below Lance’s eyes. It sent electricity running down his spine, a shock, in all its glory, that managed to bring Keith’s words back. “Let me see you.”

Lance nodded several times, not knowing what his body was supposed to do until Keith pulled him closer. They both sighed, relaxing into each other as they tangled their legs together, until Lance was practically straddling his hips. He let Keith lead his body, his movements, too caught up in the way Keith was looking at him; watered eyes burning into him, simmering like a slow flame.

Water and fire, Lance thought dazedly, closing his eyes when Keith cupped his cheeks, brought him even closer.

“Let me see you,” he repeated, as if he wasn’t already staring at the edges of Lance’s soul.

The words fell on Lance’s lips and he gasped, hands tightening on Keith’s locks: “I’m here.”

It was that moment, that _aching_ look in Keith’s eyes that uncoiled the knots in between his ribs and had him becoming pliant inside his arms, body sliding and pressing against Keith’s planes, vulnerable. Lance felt the tension inside him disappear, along his fear. It was like letting go of a pulling rope, feeling the way it slid against your skin before lashing and disappearing, leaving the palm of your hand vulnerable to the air’s cotton contact.

It felt like seeing the ocean for the first time; a violent assault to your senses because it gave and gave and it was never-ending. Keith was, too, in the way Lance could soar between orbits with just a mere touch, in the way he could look inside Keith’s eyes, watch the nebulas there and think, unapologetically, _he’s in love with me._

It should have terrified him, should have made him feel like he was losing himself after all those months clutching to denial. But it didn’t. It felt like coming home, like letting his calloused hands from holding the rope for too long finally breathe.

Keith nosed at Lance’s skin, just beneath his cheekbone, hands sliding down his neck and heart straining against his ribcage when he felt the catch in Lance’s breath against his own. It was as if they were dancing, slowly, circling and circling. Two lovers that weren’t quite so, yet, even when they impatiently wished to be.

The key was in the music, and Lance’s voice was the crescendo that locked their trajectories, that guided their feet in between the boards of their imaginary dancing room to collide together.

“I don’t know about you, Keith,” he whispered, a white lie and a false denial. Keith’s gaze stumbled to get to his eyes, to look at Lance with the same awe he was feeling. His eyes drifted momentarily to his lips and Lance bit them, feeling daring, and then feeling a hurricane unravelling beneath his skin when Keith’s eyes caught fire. “But I really want to kiss you right now.”

Keith’s eyes widened— _nebulas twirling_ , Lance thought with a shudder—, a breathy sound escaping his lips as his hands pressed harder against Lance’s collarbone. Lance pressed right back, hands leaving Keith’s hair to trace lines down his face, to trace the discontinued line of a scar just beneath his lips. Or to try to, because the moment Lance’s hands untangled from his hair Keith leaned up, letting his impulse command his limbs.

It was as easy as breathing; Lance feeling dizzy, at the way Keith inhaled sharply before their lips met. The way he felt out of orbit, and the way Keith pulled him back, straying hands tangling in Lance’s locks and keeping steady.

The first brush of lips created sparks that danced along Lance’s spine, an earthquake in his belly. He gasped, overwhelmed, a terrible shudder of pleasure striking his nerves as Keith swallowed it with a groan. He was kissing Keith, his mind tried to reason, hands cupping Keith’s jaw, guiding him to let himself curl in deeper. He was tasting the boy he had been in love with for eons and, _god,_ if the slow pressure that Keith was kissing him with wasn’t igniting him.

They were creating a star together, Lance thought hazily, pressing harder against Keith.

He clutched Keith’s collar in his hands weakly, fingers dipping inside the edge to feel the warm skin there. It made Keith tremble, and that touched something deep inside him, a thread becoming loose— and suddenly he needed to say it, pour it out. Needed to tell Keith just how much he was adored; how much he was needed. He opened his mouth to let the words flow, but Keith captured his lower lip in between his, making him cave right in.

Keith opened him up slowly, the cadence of the movement something Lance wanted to ingrain in every bit of his skin. Keith soothed his ache, the _need_ inside of his chest, replacing it with satiation Lance didn’t know he could feel.

Maybe Keith already understood, in that compacted moment of time, the lighting storm that Lance was carrying inside of himself. Maybe Lance was starting to understand what laid beneath Keith’s skin that made him touch Lance so tenderly, that made Lance feel loved and cherished.

“Keith,” he murmured, because he needed to say it, needed to feel it roll of his tongue as Keith’s hands wandered down the curve of his jaw, tracing the length of his neck and stopping at his pulse point.

It was maddening how Keith pressed against it, finding the stuttering heartbeat underneath with a fluidity that translated into the kiss. The thought of Keith hearing the explicit proof of what he was doing to him had him leaning forward, pressing wildly against Keith’s lips, hands wandering up to finally trace the scar beneath his lips.

Keith’s lips parted at the touch, the sigh that escaped him tangling into Lance’s tongue as he bit Keith’s lower lip, sliding more into his lap. He wanted more, so much more. His heart thudded almost violently against his ribcage when he thought about circling his hips, about watching Keith throw his head back with a low groan.

_Fuck._

His thighs tightened at Keith’s sides and he threw himself into the kiss, scratching at the slightly tender skin of his scar playfully. _Don’t push it_ , he thought, but his hips moved against Keith’s, a dangerous grind that had Keith drawing away, breathless and reddened.

Lance whimpered softly at the loss, at the tingle Keith had left in his mouth. He chased after him blindly, breath stuttering when Keith left a disarming kiss against his forehead instead.

“I—” he cleared his throat, lips still against Lance’s skin as one of his hands curled up into his locks. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.”

His voice was breathless, rough, and the whispered warmth against his skin made Lance squirm against him. Keith’s fingers tightened against the base of his scalp and Lance moaned lowly, eyebrows furrowing at the sudden intensity in his belly. Keith’s words were like magic, so powerful that Lance could barely be contained inside his skin.

“Do that again,” Lance whispered, eyes closed as his hands settled over Keith’s shoulders.

Keith used the grip on Lance’s hair to bare his throat, slowly, following the trail of his nose just as he did. He brushed their noses together, dropping a kiss on the tip of Lance’s and Lance went willingly, allowing Keith to make him pliant.

“This?” Keith asked with a smile before melding their mouths together, sweetly.

It was different, in a way. Less indecisive, more daring. Lance felt it in his bones, the way his touches would be welcomed, even needed. So when Keith decided to keep the kiss chaste, lingering, he groaned, pulling at Keith’s shoulders and letting himself fall backwards onto the sheets.

Keith yelped, scrambling to catch Lance, getting himself tangled in the sheets instead. He let Lance’s hands pull him in, let himself fall forward on top of him, hands at either side of his head. There was a biting comment sitting on the tip of his tongue, but the way Lance was smirking up at him erased every single thought that had been running through his mind.

“Stop teasing me,” he whispered, fingers tracing the edge of Keith’s jaw and tangling in a straying curl there. “And start kissing me.”

And Keith there once again, the petition resonating inside his bones as he captured Lance’s lips in a bruising kiss that had him melting against the sheets. Lance’s world was backwards, tumbling over an invisible edge as he arched off the bed, wanting to be closer, closer, closer—

That’s when he knew. When he realised that the best way to die would be kissing Keith, his hair shielding them both from the world, hiding the desperation with which Keith leaned down to wash Lance away. He felt like a shipwreck, while Keith was the ocean that was trying to mold him.

Keith’s hands sneaked under his shirt, caressing the skin just above the edge of Lance’s boxers before curling his fingers around his hips. Lance jolted at the sudden pleasure that lighted in his belly, breaking away from the kiss to gasp against the edge of Keith’s mouth.

“Lance—” Keith murmured, strangled, nosing his way into the crook of Lance’s neck.

His toes curled at the sensation, thighs pressing together to soothe the sudden ache born from the explosion of warmth that was Keith’s breath against his neck. He bit his lower lip, trapping the smile that was begging to come out there and squirmed, trying to bare his body for Keith’s fingers. He was tracing soothing patterns against the edge of Lance’s hips, making him feel like the universe was contained in his bones.

His hands came up to wrap around Keith’s biceps, breath heavy and close to saturation. He found purchase there, an anchor to the overwhelming wave that was trying to drown him. His fingers trembled, and he realised that it wasn’t his own, but an echo of Keith’s own quivering skin.

The shortness of Keith’s breath and the wetness dripping onto his own skin was what melted the haziness wrapping his mind in cotton into sharp concern.

“You okay?” Lance called, trying, oh, trying to stay in his right mind when Keith’s fingers ventured onto his belly.

“Amazing,” his watered voice pierced into Lance consciousness, just as it did the way his teeth closed around the edge of Lance’s chin in a playful bite.

Lance’s hand came up —slow motion—, heart skyrocketing when they settled on the line of Keith’s jaw, fingers brushing over the apple of his cheeks. There were tears soaking the skin there, but Keith looked peaceful, at _ease._

“What’s wrong?” Lance asked, fingers gathering the tears and heart constricting at the way Keith nuzzled against the contact.

“It’s just—,” Keith sniffled, hands moving up the expanse of Lance’s chest to cup his hands. Lance stuttered out a gasp at the caress, chest catching fire when Keith locked their eyes together and chuckled. “I’m happy.”

Lance had seen planets exploding, had seen galaxies collapsing on themselves but this… this was bigger. Thundering. The way his chest expanded with the sudden breath he took, the way something inside of him crumbled at those words because he had been afraid, so afraid— Relief spilled in the form of tears, the weight he had placed on his shoulders months ago disappearing into nothingness. He chuckled too, when Keith leaned down to brush their noses together, when his tears fell over his own cheeks.

“I am, too,” he whispered, so soft Keith wouldn’t have caught it if they weren’t a breath away.

And then they weren’t apart, liquefying against each other, flowing until they fell on their sides and tangled themselves in the other, like colours trying to blend together. They laid there, breathing harshly for a second; Lance holding Keith against him, nose buried in his locks, and Keith secured on the crook of his neck, counting Lance’s insistent heartbeats.

Lance closed his eyes, hands tightening against Keith’s frame as he got lost in the way Keith’s lips worked on his clavicle, one finger dipping into his shirt to lower it and have better access. He smiled dreamily, watching with a side-eyed glance the way Keith’s toes were curling with pleasure, a perfect antithesis to the way they had done it after his nightmare.

Keith fell asleep like that, with his lips on Lance’s skin and his legs tangled with his. Lance followed him, sea roaring in his belly and blood simmering in his veins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love and hate these boys in equal measure.  
> Thanks again for being patient with me♡


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I think we were cursed from the start_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's block has kicked my ass into oblivion this summer and i apologize for the longest wait uggggh. I'm also INCREDIBLY grateful for all of you, for leaving so many kind and amazing comments, for making me feel proud of my writing style and for never pressuring me to update. You guys are the best readers I could ever ask for ♡
> 
> This is an interlude of our story that was, frankily, quite painful to write. I wanted to show Keith's circumstances without Lance in a certain way, and I really hope I have managed to convey it the way I wanted it to. Also, PLOT (which is fucking hard, damn) 
> 
> ALSO: ART!!!! Two gorgeous pieces made by the sweetest [lancefreckles](http://lancefreckles.tumblr.com)! Please check out his art and support him, he deserves the world! ♡  
> [Keith's selfie](http://warmybones.tumblr.com/post/161071744998/lancefreckles-fanart-of-warmybones-fic)  
> [The kISS ](http://warmybones.tumblr.com/post/161073821688/lancefreckles-commish-for-warmybones)
> 
> Also 2.0: A million, billion, trillion thanks for my beta and friend @drosana, I don't know what i would do withour her and her infinite patience! 
> 
> And with that, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Four a.m.

The world should have been silent, quiet with the pressing touch of the night settling over the sky. Instead, it was painfully loud, deafening with the clink of bottles, the sway of hips, the thrumming that made the floor quiver—

Keith _hated_ it.

And yet, that was the way his night had been for a long time; loud and sweaty, confined to the room of a club too old to still be standing. He should have left many nights ago, should have forgotten about beats bleeding into walls, about the ugly sting of alcohol in his throat— but he couldn’t. His feet kept bringing him here, kept rooting him to a creaking chair in front of a decaying bar to watch the crowd move in tandem, to feel his own chest clutter with anxiety.

He had a responsibility, a duty that he had made _his_ and that wouldn’t stop feeling like one, no matter how much he tried. So he stayed. And stayed. And stayed.

Keith sighed, watching as the waitress— a young, pretty woman named Lee— fixed his drink with flowing grace. He tried to keep his thoughts from stumbling over as he followed, enraptured, the movement of Lee’s hands, the way she dripped vodka into his beer and shook it gently to mix it. It was a heavy drink, one that always managed to kick the worst of his anxiety right out of his chest, replacing it with buzziness.

“Rough night?” she asked upon seeing the dark shades underneath Keith’s eyes, startling him.

She was standing in front of him, leaning over the bar to place the drink right beside his twitching hands. He tried to hide it by drumming his fingers there, but he knew Lee saw right through him— right through the indifferent facade, right to the desperate one.

“You could say that,” he shrugged, eyes focusing on her carefully manicured hands as his own curled around the neck of the bottle.

The cool drops slipped down its shape, gathering over his burning skin. He closed his eyes, just for a second, and focused all of his attention there, on that relief, trying to escape everything else.

“You have to sleep more, sweetheart,” Lee said, loud enough to be heard and still low enough for Keith to feel comforted by her presence.

He should, he really should.

If only he could.

“I know,” _Zarkon tightening his grip on him, crushing his windpipe and there wasn’t oxygen, there wasn’t_ —”I know, Lee.”

He took a sip from his drink, feeling the bitterness coat the inside of his mouth, the hot thunder that spilled down his throat. He welcomed it with distaste, swallowing around the lump in his throat. Lee moved away from him with a heavy sigh, hands already working to prepare the drink of another client.

Keith appreciated the concern, he really did, but there were no kind words that would chase the prickling in his nerves. There were no words that would remedy all that he had become, all that he had done to be standing there, no words that could take the burden off of his shoulders. Not even words from the people that mattered.

_I have something I want to tell you— show you, too. When we finally see each other again._

He groaned, head dropping onto the bar to feel the coolness there, hoping that it would soothe the redness of his cheeks. He ignored the way Lee rolled her eyes in favour of focusing on the sweet flutter that bloomed inside his belly, that tell-tale buzz in his fingertips at the mere thought of Lance.

He would see him again in a month. Just thirty more days of replaying the last images he had managed to gather before they had parted ways. Just thirty more days of invoking the image of Lance, teary-eyed and gorgeous, watching Earth approaching from the safety of the castle. Lance had been awed at seeing their planet again, and Keith… Keith had fallen so painfully in love he hadn’t known what to do with the sudden weight of a broken heart.

His eyes closed tightly at the thought, trying to suffocate it from behind his eyelids. He couldn’t get distracted, he _shouldn’t_ , not even when the memory of Lance made breathing easier. Not even when indulging meant getting to stay with the Lance in his mind a little longer.

His phone buzzed inside the pocket of his pants then, insistently and tempting, almost as if sensing Keith’s distress. He closed his eyes even tighter, following the colourful show that marched around the darkness as he chanted to himself _don’t take that phone out, you can’t get distracted, don’t take it out, don’t—_

But his fingers were already sneaking inside his pocket, feeling for his phone as he opened his eyes against the neon lights of the club. He was a weak man, he realised as his breath fluttered in his lungs, nothing but a man turned to putty by the attention of someone thousands of miles away from him.

 

(4:16) [Image attached]

 

(4:16) You know… he actually looks like you

 

It was a photo of a small, black cat frowning at the camera and Keith chuckled, feeling hot lava run through his throat without the need of any alcohol. _I miss you,_ he wanted to type, but he wasn’t drunk enough for it to feel like an excuse. He was just a tired mess, desperate for a touch that felt galaxies away.

 

_(4:18) You’re horrible_

 

(4:18) I’m not, why else would you still be talking with me?

 

_Because I’m in love with you,_ Keith thought, fingers hovering over the screen. The realisation never stopped being painful, no matter how grateful he was to have Lance back. He sipped his drink one more time; a long, drawn out gulp that left his mouth sour and his chest hot, waiting to burst out. It hurt, because Lance was still Lance— oblivious, flirtatious, gorgeous idiot— and Keith still had a candid of him tenderly placed on his nightstand.

 

The universe had different ways of being cruel.

 

_(4:20) Have you considered that I might have the patience of a saint?_

 

(4:20) Yeah, right

 

(4:21) My red paladin? Patient? I don’t think so

 

The air disintegrated inside of his chest, leaving Keith gasping— a small, aching sound that got drowned by the noise around him. The possessive tone of the message turned his legs to liquid, and he trembled when he reread the words, eyes catching on the first word. His fingers slipped from the bottle to lock onto his own hair, to tighten there as he felt his heart kicking against his ribcage, hoping to flush his skin. It was ridiculous, what Lance could do to him with just a message.

_I’m ridiculous,_ Keith thought, tilting his head to the side to bury his face on his arm, wishing for the earth to swallow him just to spit him out wherever Lance was. God, did Keith want him— to trace that bold mouth with his fingers, feel it stretch when it turned into a smile, feel it carefully with his own mouth…

His hands resembled an earthquake when he tried to type back.

 

_(4:23) You don’t?_

 

_(4:23) Apparently my blue paladin is back on his bullshit_

 

(4:25) How dare you be so smooth even when disrespecting me

 

(4:26) … are you out tonight?

 

_(4:27) Yeah, want me to call you later?_

 

(4:27) You know I always do

 

Keith felt for his cracked lips with his teeth, biting there to keep any sound from tumbling out of his throat. There was heat coiling at the edges of his ribcage, a sweet, torturing force that had stayed there for far too long. It grew with the thought of Lance always wanting to hear from him— always wanting _him_ —, and Keith itched for it to grow bigger and hotter. A star could be born from there, from all the love and simmering softness Lance has spilled inside his chest without even realising.Keith only wished it wouldn’t destroy him.

Keith only wished it wouldn’t destroy him.

He breathed in deeply, locking his phone just as someone dropped on the seat beside him, asking Lee for a drink. Something revolted inside of his stomach, anxiousness clinging to the gaps in between his ribs when he recognized the voice; high, playful and refusing to be drowned by the beat of the music.

_Oh._

At the turn of his head, the profile of the boy greeted him, all sharp edges and devious smiles that shimmered among neon lights. Keith’s eyes raked over his figure, over the colourful outline of his body, and would be forever embarrassed to admit that the shape of the boy’s hips inspired memories that his voice did not.

The poor-lighted room had done nothing to suffocate the curiosity in Keith’s eyes, to prevent how they had been drawn to the boy’s figure for so many nights. The way he danced, the curve of his hips and the way his hair curled over the nape of his neck resembled someone else, someone too far away from Keith but that— with the right amount of darkness and alcohol— seemed so close he _ached._

Keith closed his eyes for a moment, trying to clear his head. This was the boy he had tried to talk to, tried to _save_ for weeks. The one that had always seduced his way into someone’s pants and out of the club before Keith could have rushed in. He was that, just that, not a distorted copy of Lance with whom his imagination could indulge.

Lance wasn’t there, no matter how much everything inside of him screamed that he _should_ be.

“Someone special?” the boy asked suddenly, looking at Keith as he sipped his drink, eyes never leaving his.

The playful tilt of his head reminded him of Lance, of the way he used to do it when they were bickering, when he said something unexpectedly soft that made Keith melt from the inside. But it was someone else doing it, and even though the boy was all long legs and tight pants, the feeling in his gut was anything but warm.

“Oh,” Keith said, following the boy’s eyes— bright and haunting— as they drew away from him to focus on his phone. He felt his throat closing up. “Something like that.”

The words tasted bitter, more so than the alcohol. Lance’s smile flashed inside Keith’s mind, a sun-kissed memory that caressed needles into his heart— a vicious reminder that there was someone special, but that they could never be Keith’s. The boy hummed beside him, leaning closer to peer at Keith’s face from behind his hair.

“I’m Jaime,” he said, extending the hand with his drink towards Keith and winking.

Keith’s lips curled into a small smile at his shameless attitude. Despite the mixed feelings Jaime was stirring inside of him, satisfaction was loosening the knot in Keith’s chest, anxiety giving slightly way at finally, _finally_ , being able to talk with him. He reached for his own drink to touch them together with a resounding ‘clink’.

“Keith,” he offered before drinking from his bottle.

He noticed Jaime looking at him, hips tilting backwards in his seat to adjust his position, and decided to ignore the burning in his chest to focus on the one in his throat.

“Pretty name,” Jaime said, lips wrapping around the edge of his drink as his eyes travelled

down Keith’s collarbone. “Pretty guy.”

Keith opened his mouth, only to choke around the feeling of a hurricane swirling on the back of his throat, dangerous and rasping. The praise curled beneath his skin— reddening it— and he swallowed, feeling heat spilling into his belly.

“Are you shy?” Jaime chuckled as he leaned closer, caramel eyes warm and coaxing.

_“Are you shy, Kogane? Think you can be smoother than me?” Lance asked playfully from the couch, stretching his body until the vast column of his neck was all that Keith could focus on._

The memory, combined with the colour of Jaime’s eyes sobered Keith instantly. The hurricane dipped into his lungs, expanding his chest until the only thing he could focus on was the hollow of Jaime’s throat, the tan skin that teased him from beneath his open collar.

He couldn’t indulge in this, he reminded himself, closing his eyes against the flashing memory of a gasping Lance, drained from training and smiling, sweat following the dimples on his cheeks. He was there to do _something—_ what was right, what he believed in.

“Are you?” he asked, raising to the challenge before he could stop himself, a pavlovian effect that had been ingrained within him after years of bickering.

Jaime smiled at that, a sweet, coy thing that translated into a burning look pronounced by the tilt of his head. The gesture made Keith furious, made his chest his hurt with all the things he was burying in there. _Stop looking like him,_ he wanted to say. _Stop breaking my heart without noticing._

“Maybe,” Jaime said, getting closer and closer until his lips were against Keith’s ear, hot and promising. He repressed a tremor. “Maybe I just want you to take me somewhere private.”

Keith felt Jaime inhale there, breathe in his scent as Jaime’s hands wrapped around his beer, setting it aside and away from Keith’s hands. Jaime drew back, brushing his nose against Keith’s cheek almost imperceptibly, moving with a feline grace unimaginable to the drunk. He was getting daring— like Keith had never seen him—, wrapping his fingers around Keith’s wrist and tightening there, lips opening over his cheekbone to coat his skin with warm breath.

It was then, when Jaime started to draw away— slowly, so slowly— that Keith realised he had given him the go-ahead since the very start. Since he had seen him across the room and had watched with burning eyes, over and over again, imagining Lance in his place.

Jaime believed Keith wanted him, and Keith only wanted some distorted version of what he had to offer.

“So,” Jaime whispered, right in front of him. He was warm against Keith, the tip of his nose touching Keith’s playfully, trying to draw him in. “What do you say, bad boy?”

Keith had let this go on for too long, had let Jaime take every silence as an invitation when he was frozen by memories, paralyzed by his aching bones. And now… Now, he could lose the opportunity to talk to Jaime if he refused. He could lose the chance to save him, to protect what he so fiercely believed in and he— he just couldn’t afford that. Couldn’t risk losing anything, not when he had lost so many things already, not when his chest had been torn open so viciously after every single loss.

Somewhere private would lessen the possibilities of someone overhearing their conversation, Keith thought, watching how Jaime’s eyes turned ochre upon the touch of the lights of the club, making them seem _still_ wrong. Somewhere private wouldn’t jeopardize Jaime’s safety, would make Keith feel steady, instead of as if the world was quivering from its foundation, and, and—

He would have to play along. He would have to give Jaime whatever he wanted, Keith realised as Jaime spread his wandering hands over his thighs, dragging them down to feel the power beneath Keith’s skin. Keith’s heart cracked, edges quivering as they gave way to a slow pulsing that clawed into his veins. It felt like ink spilling into his bones, but it tasted like guilt on his tongue.

_Don’t do it,_ he chanted inside his head, the memory of Lance beating against his chest. They weren’t together, they may never be together, but Keith _loved_ him. So fiercely he had let Lance go with a mere brush of their fingers. So ardently, the thought of being touched by someone else kissed daggers into his heart.

But he was drunk, and lonely, and without a backup plan.

“Lead the way,” he said, loud and choked, guilt strangling away whatever clarity he had left.

He tried to swallow it, bury it away as Jaime slipped fluidly off his seat, catching Keith’s hands in between his and tugging him into a light step. Keith’s head was suddenly spinning, alcohol and ungrateful feelings eating at any rational thought that tried to be born. Keith watched their clasped hands as they walked through the room, entranced by their contrast. His other hand hovered over the pocket of his pants briefly, feeling the outline of his phone there, burning with meaning.

_I want you back,_ Keith thought, almost bitterly, following a daydream that didn’t belong to him.

 

* * *

 

 

Keith’s back collided against the bathroom’s door, rattling the bones beneath his skin. Jaime was growling, backing him up against it as the brightness of the room blinded Keith. A groan slipped out of his mouth, head lolling to the side to get a grip of himself, to try not to recoil too harshly at the sudden assault of burning hands and bruising kisses against his skin.

Jaime’s breath hitched against the line of his jaw before mouthing it slowly, as if tasting a sweet. Keith blinked, hands reaching into the pockets of his jacket to curl there, to release all the tension of his body into his fists, into the leather that covered his palms. He glanced to the side, trying to lessen the panic that had suddenly settled behind his windpipe, and found himself reflected in a mirror— looking feral and heartbroken, with a boy caging him and trying to devour him in a room filled with stalls.

His heart was beating in his ears, blood rushing there too, and everything was too overwhelmingly fast and new— too many touches after being alone for so long, too much desire pouring into him by a simple mouth. Keith felt adrift, distorted inside his core until Jaime’s head tilted just _right_ and suddenly Keith wasn’t seeing him, but the lovely curls of Lance’s hair reflected on the mirror.

_Oh._

Keith found shelter there, just where guilt laid, but he closed his eyes and brushed it aside as the breath over his chin became familiar. Long fingers caressed the curve of his neck, raising goosebumps into his skin as Lance touched over the same spot while tending to his wounds behind Keith’s eyelids. His fists loosened inside his pockets, fingertips brushing against the only remnant of his mission; a small pendant that dug into the centre of his palm when he gathered it, edges smooth but still flaring hot.

It yanked him back into reality violently, so violently he felt bruises blooming over his veins; pretty things that no one but him would ever see.

“You’re so hot,” Jaime slurred, punch-drunk against the dip of skin underneath his lower lip.

The sound of Jaime’s voice bruised Keith even further, dug claws into him mercilessly, as if it wanted him to bleed. But Keith already was, had been since he had decided to see any resemblance of Lance in Jaime’s presence. _I want to tell you something,_ he wanted to say, suddenly feeling too raw underneath his skin, left open and teared up for everyone to see.

He wanted to complete his mission, go home and bury himself in his own aching misery.

But there were hands sneaking onto his collarbones, a thumb dragging against the supple skin of his lips, and then there was a searing, unrelenting mouth coaxing his open, coaxing it slack against the onslaught of warmth. It was unfair, Keith thought, weak and tired as his lips followed Jaime’s movements tentatively. So unfair to still feel the weight of the universe upon his shoulders when he had already saved it once. So unfair to know the love of his life didn’t love him back.

He gasped against Jaime’s mouth, feeling the thought piercing through his heart and hurting, _hurting,_ as Jaime groaned, a sweet vibration that tickled his lips before it was his tongue doing so and, and—

He was just a boy.

And it was so terrifyingly easy to imagine Lance’s lips closing around his own.

The pendant slipped from his finger, eyes closing into a pulsing image of Lance tugging him roughly against his frame after a battle. Keith shuddered at the memory of Lance’s smell, a thunderstorm swirling into the form of a human, and he pressed forward to feel it more, to finally let go. The pendant fell silently into the bottom of his pocket and his muscles unknotted, tension falling away as Lance’s relieved laugh rang in his ears.

_Finally relaxing, aren’t you?_

Keith groaned, one hand coming up to settle against the curve of his neck, to feel the warmth there and give Lance shape. His muscles worked beneath the skin and Keith succumbed hazily to the fire that dipped into the pit of his stomach, becoming addicted to Lance’s ghostly presence, to the way his mind was working relentlessly to make him clearer.

_Just a little more,_ Keith thought, pulling Lance closer to feel every sound that escaped his throat, to feel the leg that was settling in between his thighs. There was a fire cracking inside his chest, melting his ribcage with its ambers because it was Lance who was kissing him senseless, the one who was tracing the tight muscles of his stomach with an awed chuckle.

“Lance,” he whispered against his lips, mouthed it there with melted bones, eager to feel his smile pouring over his own tongue.

Instead, Lance stopped, lips sliding wetly against his as he drew away. He wasn’t supposed to do that, Keith though, desperately suppressing a whimper, Lance’s long fingers already dissipating from his mind. _Don’t go, don’t go, not again, please don’t—_

“What?” Came Lance’s— _Jaime’s_ voice, a hot puff of air that froze the blood rushing inside Keith’s veins.

Lance shattered behind his eyelids, ribbons of frost stopping Keith’s heart when he opened his eyes to find caramel ones instead of blue. Jaime was breathing heavily in front of him, brow furrowed as his mouth opened and closed, and the fire inside his ribcage suffocated, dying and dying until ashes clogged his lungs.

It wasn’t fair.

And, by god, if Keith could sob without feeling like a stranger in his own skin, he would.

He swallowed harshly, feeling everything rasp his throat on the way down as his hand reached for the pendant where it had fallen forgotten at the bottom of his pocket. His fingers curled around it as Jaime opened his mouth to talk, but Keith couldn’t handle it, just wanted to rip the band aid off and never look at the wound again.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, before touching the pendant to Jaime’s pulse point.

It flared hotly against his fingertips, shining gold lightening up the space in between them, outlining the sickening surprise that painted itself on Jaime’s face. He screamed at the thunderous heat that ran deep into his skin— burning and burning and _burning_ — and managed to push against Keith with fumbling hands. Stumbling backwards, Keith followed him, pushing forward and extending his hand to draw a final stroke with the pendant edges, tracing the line of Jaime’s neck.

Jaime was gone in the next second, drawing backwards and away from Keith in a haste, hips tumbling against the edge of the sink when the room grew too small for him. His chest was heaving, hand draped over the curve of his neck as he watched Keith with widened eyes, caramel boiling inside his irises. The tight line of his shoulders— its hard reflection on the mirror behind him— made Keith choke, shame clogging his throat after realising how far he had pushed him.

“What—“Jaime gasped, the palm of his hand tightening on his skin, feeling the residual warmth as he grasped for words.

Wet lips were trembling slightly— the ones Keith had been kissing mere seconds ago, the ones he had _melted_ against— and they were opening and closing, forming words and sounds, but he was deaf to it, gaze dipping down to focus on Jaime’s neck. White noise exploded in his ears as he watched, with relief and dread battling in between his lungs, the way purple appeared on the side of Jaime’s neck; strokes of a brush that curled and curled until the colour intensified. Until the colour was swirling playfully from beneath Jaime’s palm to touch the edge of his jaw.

Keith swallowed, hands trembling as he felt guilt dropping into the bottom of his stomach, cold and unforgiving. He was protecting them, Keith reminded himself. All of them, even if it didn’t seem like it now.

“What’s that!?” Jaime was screaming, voice finally filtering through the panic that had settled in Keith’s ears.

He was pointing to Keith’s pendant, still glowing softly in between his fingers as he pressed himself even harder against the edge of the sink. Keith didn’t have the strength to hide the fact that his fingertips were starting to colour themselves purple.

“Pure quintessence,” Keith replied, focusing on the stinging pain that travelled from his fingers to his wrist when he played with the material, following the rhythm of the pulse inside his veins. It hurt less than the thoughts that were trying to catch him by his ribcage. “Turned into a pendant.”

Jaime was shaking, words caught in his throat, and the silence… the silence felt like flying for the first time. Like being plummeted into nothingness, feeling your stomach churning and your head spinning— wanting to crawl out of your skin because you _needed_ to make it stop but couldn’t. Because it was out of your hands, because you couldn’t control it.

Keith couldn’t control this, either. Couldn’t control the fall, the way it felt as if he had no breaks, as if the only thing he had ever known to do was push the accelerator, even when he didn’t want to crash. Even when he had never meant to do so.

“No,” was the first thing Jaime uttered, hand tightening over the curve of his neck as he turned to the mirror behind him. Keith swore he could feel the warmth on his own skin. “Nonono, what did you—“

Jaime cut himself off, staring unfocusedly at his reflection as he drew his hand away from the patch of purple skin. It was starting to disappear around the edges, but Jaime’s eyes widened just the same, trembling fingers touching over the curling colours without breathing. Keith could see Jaime’s world crumbling underneath him, could feel it as he watched him lean forward shakily, straining the skin with his fingers to observe its reflection.

And Keith ached, because he had been like that once, and he still didn’t know how to make it better.

“We need to talk,” he said, lost, breaking the silence and all that it carried with a tremor in his voice.

Jaime twitched; eyes still trained on his own reflection as they began to water. Keith darted his own away, not being able to handle the weight that settled in his chest at seeing the brand new colours swirling over Jaime’s pulse point.  

It was always like this, he reminded himself as he felt the beginning of a migraine tethering on the back of his head, the need to bury his head in his palms and _scream_ constricting his lungs.

It didn’t make it any easier.

“Jaime—“

He gasped the last syllable out, Jaime’s hands suddenly pressing against his ribcage to leave him breathless. To create and out for himself. He slammed his body against Keith’s, pushing him away from the door— but he didn’t budge. Not an inch. Jaime pushed again, hands finding leverage on Keith’s chest; hard and bruising, like the sob that wrecked through his throat. But Keith’s hands were everywhere. Holding him and keeping him still, even when he struggled so desperately.

Jaime hissed out— frustration burning in his windpipe—, and grabbed at Keith’s jacket. He pulled sharply, Keith’s groan a miracle to his ears, and slammed him against the door with a sickening satisfaction. He battled Keith’s hands away, and retreated with heavy steps, defeated.

He turned around under Keith’s attentive gaze and punched the door of a stall with a wetted grunt.

Keith blinked the surprise away, heart knocking against his ribcage as painfully as the throbbing of his back. Jaime had charged at him full force, and he hadn’t even noticed. He hadn’t _noticed,_ not even with his paladin training ingrained into his very being.

Just how fast was Jaime? Was he as fast as Keith was strong? Did he know what he was capable of?

The pendant flickered on his grip, reminding him of its presence and bringing him back into his bones. His nails were already tainted purple, golden glow making the colour lighter. He had to show Jaime, had to call out to him, had to set this right. Had, had, had—

The silence stretched between them, deafening in the way Keith started to feel that soul-tiring wright, the one that always draped over his shoulders and spread relentlessly through his body. He leaned against the door, pendant finding its way to his palm as he closed his hand into a fist. The shaking of Jaime’s shoulders was agonizing, tugging at the softest parts of himself.

“Jaime,” he tried again, wishing to ignore the way Jaime was leaning his forehead against the cold surface of the stall. “Listen—“

“I don’t want to listen to _you!”_ he screamed, turning around to face Keith, hand pressing against the stall behind him to keep himself grounded. The tears that ran angrily down his cheeks tugged at Keith’s ribcage, cracking it. “Please, I… I want to go home.”

_I do, too,_ Keith thought, long caramel curls and tiny hands kissing some of his heaviness away. The reminder slapped him, and something clicked inside of him for the first time since the beginning of the night. He had saved the universe as a paladin of Voltron, he had fought relentlessly along his family so everyone could survive.

He would continue to do so, even without his family. He would do it for her— for those tiny hands, that sparkly laugh—, for them, for everyone that didn’t choose to be born into something bound to be hated.

He would do it for Jaime, too.

“Jaime,” he called out, and the name felt eroded on his tongue, like sandpaper brushing against it. The pendant glowed brightly as he raised it to the side of his head, as he caught Jaime’s eyes with his own. “See for yourself.”

The edge of the pendant settled over his temple, flaring hot into Keith’s nerves, an itch crawling just underneath it— almost as if it wanted to pull something out from him. And it did; purple blossomed on his skin, a gentle shade that swirled there, resembling a hurricane. He caressed the pendant from his temple down to his chin, following the curve of his own face, feeling the threads of colours chasing the trail, burning the paleness of his skin away.

It felt like tearing himself open.

Jaime inhaled sharply, mouth opening slightly as he followed Keith’s movements, watching the pained frown on his face. Keith felt the burning seeping behind his eyelids, the sting at the edge of his iris and knew, with the revolting clarity of having seen his purest form, that threads of yellow were trying to devour the colour of his eyes.

With that, he let the crystal fall back on his palm, let his skin cool into purple as the golden glow softened over his leather gloves. Jaime was gaping, and Keith saw in the way his eyes brightened, shimmering with something like wonder, that he recognized him. He _had_ to recognize him.

Their return to Earth after the war had been over hadn’t been a private matter, after all.

The shock from being exposed to such danger without even being aware of it paralyzed the whole word for days—silent, peaceful days—before everything exploded in tidal waves of gratitude towards Voltron and its paladins. They became the focus of every media, every discussion, every heated debate about what had really happened.

The world had awakened to a universe where lions formed the most powerful weapon to ever exist, where galra existed and had ruled an empire for ten thousand years, where quintessence was real and dangerous, and yet… And yet no one knew who the paladins really were. There were no names, no faces, just the wake of hope that the lions had left on the planet before flying away with the alteans and their castle.

It had made it so much easier for them to deal with their scars, the wounds that wouldn’t let them sleep at night, even when they tried to push forward. It had made it easier for everyone, except for Keith. While his family had steered away from all media, Keith hadn’t been able to, not after reading one simple sentence that tugged at his heart until it threatened to beat out of his throat.

_Since the red paladin is half-galra, does that mean there are other half-galra among us?_

The scandal, oh, the _scandal._ Pure madness tangled with double standards that made Keith feel as if he was swallowing glass. The red paladin was adored by everyone, saviour of the galaxy as they were, but other half-galras… people would gladly spit on them if they ever had the opportunity. They were spawns, monsters, and so many other things coated with hate it made Keith want to tear the planet he had protected with his life apart.

He had fought for too many years to accept his heritage, to feel comfortable in his own skin. He had suffered too much for something he had never had control over, and he would die before letting the world get to him. He would die before letting anyone feel as wrongly as he had, back when he used to want to crawl out of his skin just so he could stop hating himself.

“You’re the red paladin,” Jaime whispered, tumbling backwards against the stall and sliding down onto the floor. No one else could have access to quintessence, no one else could have galra skin. Jaime looked defeated, hands coming up to tangle in his hair, eyes never leaving Keith’s tainted skin. “What is even… god, I—“

He choked on the words, looking small and frail on the dirty floor as Keith pocketed the crystal. The alcohol had disappeared from his veins, leaving him feeling empty and cold, trembling against the door as he watched Jaime with tired eyes.

_I’m sorry I did this to you,_ he wanted to say, sit beside him and make all the confusion disappear. _I’m sorry they hate us._

“You’re a goddamned hero,” Jaime said in between heavy breaths, eyes lowering to the ground, to focus on the pattern of the tiles there. The words took over the space between them, draping over Keith’s frame and making him shudder. “You’re a goddamned hero and you just turned my skin purple.”

Keith frowned, because heroes had the glory, the peace, the love— every stunning thing the world had to offer— and all that he had was a mental illness that weighed on his bones and a heartbreak too big to hold inside his chest.

“What the fuck is going on?” Jaime cried, the heel of his palms pressing against his eyes, legs drawing closer to his body.

It sounded vulnerable and weak, and it shattered his bones, cracking them because those were the exact things Keith should have never been when he was fighting the war. The exact things he shouldn’t be now, not when he was still fighting a war all by himself. But he was. Weak, vulnerable and so many more things, and he wished there was an easy way to understand that it was alright to feel human.  

He wished it wouldn’t have taken Jaime fighting a panic attack to get him to understand it.

“Hey,” Keith spoke, the sound startling Jaime, making his trembling harsher. He slid down the door, needles still digging into his back, and sat on the floor to be eye to eye with Jaime. To be less threatening. “I need you to breathe.”

“In…” he inhaled deeply, watching Jaime’s form attentively, seeing himself in a room too small for himself, in a universe too confining for what he was.. It hurt. God, it hurt so much. “And out…”

He went through the motions, remembering how many time he had done this for Lance, how he had become a pillar to hang onto. He could do it again even if he wasn’t strong enough, just so Jaime could stop his body from curling in on itself, just so he could stop himself from sobbing.

“Everything’s okay,” Keith said, the lie bitter on his tongue. “Just breathe.”

And Jaime did, slowly but surely, regaining himself bit by bit until breathing came easily to him. Keith watched him, acutely aware of every shift of his body, and was startled by how strong and loud his voice seemed when he asked: “Am I galra?”

His eyes were scorching, digging into Keith’s tender skin as if, by that, the words that he wanted to hear would spill from Keith’s lips. He met Jaime’s eyes and tried not crumble under the weight of his stare, fighting for words that wouldn’t even form in his brain.

“Half,” he finally managed to crackle out, holding Jaime’s gaze to balance himself. “Half-galra.”

Keith expected more screams, another freak out, maybe— god knew that he would have done that if the crushing weight of his responsibility as a paladin would have let him. He didn’t expect Jaime to melt against the stall, to tilt his head backwards and close his eyes, sighing heavily.

“Why did you do this?” he asked, hands wringing together. “Why did you show me this?”

He didn’t need to point to the discoloured patch of his skin to make Keith understand. He wasn’t good with words, had never been, and even though he was afraid of drawing people away with his bluntness, he felt like he could be nothing but brutally honest with Jaime.

“Because we’re in danger.”

 

* * *

 

Jaime was pacing.

Had been for the past fifteen minutes, walking from one end of the bathroom to the other, only to retrace his steps. His hands twitched at his sides as he mumbled underneath his breath, lost in the assault of information Keith had poured into him.

Keith watched him from the floor, following his movements with unfocused eyes, feeling strangely content now that everything had been said. The weight inside his chest was dissipating with each drag of Jaime’s legs, with the way he seemed to start getting angry as Keith’s words finally settled in. He stopped in front of Keith, mouth opening and hands flailing before stopping, inhaling deeply, and trying again.

“What the fuck?”

The high exclamation tugged at the corner of Keith’s mouth, almost making him smile. He suppressed it, looking into his puffy eyes and waiting.

“Let me— Let me get this straight,” he continued, hands gesturing wildly around him as his voice grew. “The government is paying _you_ an insane amount of money for saving the universe?”

“Yeah,” Keith breathed out, nails digging into his knees, scratching there softly.

The money came, no matter what he did. Every month, like a goddamn clock, he would find his bank account full to the brim with money he didn’t even want. It made him furious, made him feel hot in his skin with the raging fire that rushed through his veins. Clutching the edge of the kitchen’s sink until red stopped clouding his vision, until his chest stopped heaving had become an unfortunate tradition for him.

He was rougher those days. Inflamed. He was being played at— like a mouse caught in the cat’s trap— and the only thing he could do was curl his hands into fists and hold on, turn his thunderous feelings into something that would help him fight them.

“And…” Jaime continued, unaware of the stormy thoughts he had awakened inside Keith. “The government is trying to find all the half-galras that are on Earth…”

His voice grew small. Scared. He resembled a little kid, with his pinched brow and trembling hands, and Keith wished he wouldn’t have to voice his train of thought to make it feel real. “... to kill them?”

The weight of his responsibility rammed into his windpipe with the words, vicious and unwanted, leaving his bones clattering. It was an overwhelming realisation, that he was alone in this, that he was the only one that could protect them. His galra heritage was what made everyone fear him, his paladin status what made everyone respect him and he had to play his cards, had to bear the cruel weight of so many unknown lives on his shoulders while doing so.

“Yes,” he choked out, curling his toes inside his shoes until the muscle pulled so tight it hurt. “They want to destroy everything that is galra.”

The words settled in between them, ticking the silence away with their echo. The air felt heavy, so dense with fear that breathing felt like choking on humidity, begging for the oxygen to be enough. Jaime’s unmoving form twitched for a second— hands moving on their own accord— before walking over to Keith to lean down onto the floor and sit beside him. The dry sound of Jaime’s legs hitting the ground made Keith’s heart warm over, air clearing as Jaime spread his legs out in front of him.

“I don’t understand,” he whispered into the silence of the bathroom, the music pounding outside of those four wall a trembling afterthought. “How did they— Why are you—“

He stuttered, words tying his tongue as they scrambled to get out, and groaned at his own fumbling. Hands found his short locks and tangled there, scratching— wanting to dig into his head to catch his own thoughts with his fingers. Keith curled his toes tighter and remained silent.

“You should be dead,” Jaime whispered, and it froze Keith’s melted bones, caught the breath inside his lungs and kept it captive. He tensed, bones solidifying painfully, and Jaime flinched. “I’m sorry, fuck, I didn’t mean—“

“I just… You said the government wants to kill everyone who’s half-galra. And you are, and they _know_ you are. They know who you are, where you are,” he was leaning in, hands hovering over Keith’s covered skin as he searched for his eyes. “Keith, they know _everything._ They could kill you so easily.”

His fingertips brushed against Keith’s hand, a weak touch that poured beneath his skin, in between the blue threads of his wrist. Keith swallowed and turned to look at Jaime, let him find his eyes and the sadness that coiled on itself in there. He wasn’t prepared for the sight of rich skin flooding his senses, for the open panic in Jaime’s face that made him hate himself. For using him, for destroying his world with a mere flick of his fingers.

“Killing me would entail going to war with the most powerful weapon of the universe,” Keith whispered into the space that separated them, eyes following the sweet lines that Jaime’s bracelets drew against his wrist. “My team would know if I died, they—“

_Shiro tearing into droids, light on his feet and heavy on his fists. Hunk, holding prisoners with one arm while making the walls crumble on themselves with the other. Pidge, destroying hundred years’ worth of data so the empire could never raise again. Lance shielding him with his slim frame, lost eyes and beautiful lips turned into a snarl, firing viciously until no one was left standing._

Keith cleared his throat, Lance’s tear-stained face weighing on his chest. “No one is prepared for that.”

“They can’t touch you,” Jaime whispered, a realisation that burned in his irises, made them wide open resembling a child that had seen the sky for the first time.

“And they _won’t_ touch you if you’re under my protection,” Keith said fiercely, hand settling over Jaime’s and tightening. There was a fire sizzling in his throat, kissing coldness into his nerves— eager to suffocate him with the threat of a denial— and he wished the rawness of his voice didn’t feel so loud in between them.

“Is that what this is all about?” Jaime asked, leaning in to meet Keith’s outburst. It startled him, made him recoil into a space that didn’t caress needles into his abdomen. And yet. And yet he had to focus on the line of sweat that persisted above Jaime’s brows to avoid the wrongness of his caramel eyes. “Taking me under your wing so they can’t harm me?”

“Yes,” he murmured, caving in to the stinging guilt and looking into his eyes. “Just until it’s safe, until I figure something out…”

Jaime tightened his hand on Keith’s, looking warm and coaxing and so beautiful coloured under the bleeding lights of the bathroom that Keith wanted to swallow it all. Wanted to burrow in the open collar of his shirt and let himself become a pulsing beat, guarded by the expanse of Jaime’s skin.

Jaime was like him.

He wasn’t sure if his hair would be enough to hide the watered edges of his eyes.

“You just have to be close to me,” he breathed out, shunning away from Jaime’s gaze to get a hold of himself. Words were escaping him, filtering out as he became versatile, mouldable to the touch. “So I can protect you.”

Keith didn’t expect an immediate answer— how could he? —, but the way in which Jaime was studying him, eyes carefully caressing the curves of his face, left him so vulnerable he thought his nerves might bloom upon his skin.

“Close to you, uh? Is this how you mean it?” he asked, gesturing between them with a strange shimmering in his eyes, stirring bruising touches and melted groans.

Keith choked on a gasp, eyes widening as they collided with Jaime’s. It felt like a motionless dance; pulling without pulling, pushing without meaning to. Pushing him into remembering how Jaime’s touch hadn’t feel electric until it was Lance’s long fingers travelling through his body, digging into tender places with eyes too blue to be a mere memory. Keith had followed the drag of Lance’s lips like a drowning man, dipping into the daydream so easily it still coated his breaths.

“I’m in love with someone,” he said, and it was so soft, so terrified and meant for someone else. The sound echoed off the walls of the bathroom, mocking him, mocking his hazy thoughts, his burning chest, the way he flushed down to his toes.

It was the first time he had voiced it. The first time it had felt real outside of the frames of his head and beating heart. It was tangible in the air now, something dense and heavy that brushed against him, tingling. He wondered if he would feel the words ghosting against his lips for the rest of his life.

“Lance?” Jaime asked, tilting his head to catch the twitch of his mouth. Keith closed his mouth, cursing his loose tongue, the familiarity of Lance’s touch piercing through his conscience and nodded, defeated. “Then, how do you mean it, Keith?”

“Come live with me?” he rasped out, one hand coming up to press against his forehead. The structure of his plan had crumbled from its hinges, and he couldn’t voice the broken pieces that laid on his mind, the chaos of it.

The words sounded wrong, misplaced with the agonizing feeling of knowing that something was going to slip through your fingers, caress them longingly before disappearing. It tugged urgently at his anxiety, and he felt it unravelling as Jaime’s incredulous laugh reached his ears.

“This is ridiculous,” and he was shaking his head, standing up and pulling away from Keith, from the warmth of his hands. Keith pressed against his forehead harder, trying to suffocate the panic. “You can’t ask me that, Keith.”

_But I can, I can if it protects you from this madness, from the things that should have been buried after the war was over._

“You will understand once you see I promi—“

The door shuddered behind him, down his back into its aching recesses, making him falter as the rattling knocks pounded inside his ears. He tumbled forward, drawing away from it as a voice screamed over his racing blood.

“We’re closing!”

And it was then, frozen like two kids that expected punishment, when they realised that the beat of the music had disappeared. That their trembling limbs and stuttering eyes weren’t just because of their nerves on edge.

The universe had _so_ many ways of being cruel, Keith thought as he watched Jaime’s fingers close around the bathroom’s knob, long legs and curved hips stepping out from their improvised hideout teasingly, whispering.

_Follow me or you will lose me._

So many ways.

 

* * *

 

Jaime had waited for him outside, had watched the morning fog play in between his feet as Keith rushed out of the bar with quivering legs, with his heart beating up a storm inside his mouth. The world had been silent as their gazes met, and Keith loved the quiet, adored it with the force of a man who needed it to survive— but not when Jaime refused to look at him, not when he refused to find the words to say.

“I know you have questions,” Keith had said, desperately, fingers digging into the pocket of his pants to retrieve a paper with his phone number. He had handed it to Jaime, hoping and hoping, finding his fingers white-hot when Jaime’s closed around the wrinkled paper. “And I want to answer them. All of them. Just… call me. Please.”

And it was with the way Jaime looked at him, disbelieving and alarmed, that he thought of a slap, of flowing red hair disappearing from his sight. Of muffled cries and big scars on small hands.

_They are going to die because of you…_

“Okay,” Jaime had murmured, and that had been it for them, but not for the tyrannical weigh on Keith’s chest.

 

* * *

 

**(7:46) hey**

 

**(7:46) its belle**

 

**(7:47) can we meet tomorrow?**

 

_(7:50) Is there something wrong?_

 

**(7:50) something has happened… im not sure what yet but**

 

**(7:51) i think i want to accept your offer**

 

_(7:51) Are you okay?_

 

_(7:51) Give me an address and an hour and I’ll be there_

 

**(7:52) im okay**

 

**(7:53) thanks, keith**

 

* * *

 

Three rhythmic knocks against the door, a sigh, and the sudden realization that he was home. That was all it took for Keith to feel his feet pulsing under the weight of his body, to feel the itching that scratched behind his heavy eyelids. He wanted to slip into his bed and let the world dissipate, welcome the cool darkness and the soft drag of his sheets against his skin.

He didn’t want to think about tonight, about the nightmares it would stir.

He looked at the door of his apartment from over his shoulder and inhaled deeply, mind crawling at the mere thought of another restless night. Or morning.

The soft ‘click’ of a door opening caught his attention and, when he turned around, an old lady greeted him from behind the white surface, eyes softening at the sight of him. Her white hair slipped from a high bun, cascading down her shoulders and framing her round face— Keith’s fingers twitched, reaching out to caress one strayed lock behind her ear.

“Keith! My dear, come in,” she whispered, ushering him inside, giggling when Keith pecked her on her wrinkled cheek.

“Hey, Breta,” he whispered back, feeling tender at the sound of her laugh, at the sight of her eyes; an ocean laying still underneath the fury of the storm above. “Thank you for doing this.”

She swatted at his arm, and gave him a stern look that only made him melt further, “You don’t have to thank me. I love taking care of her and you know it.”

The door closed behind them and Breta turned away from him, walking down the hallway with the hem of her pearl dress billowing and rippling as she talked over her shoulder: “She’s in the bedroom. Feel free to leave whenever you want, dear.”

Keith eyed the bedroom beside him, dark wood closed and golden knob shimmering with the morning light. His fingers closed around the knob, twisting it and making the door give when Breta’s voice startled him.

“Also!” she exclaimed, turning around on her feet to look at Keith with clapped hands and shining eyes. She was so small, and so delighted by the little things Keith could only smile around her. “Tomorrow, lunch.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Keith said with a small chuckle, Breta disappearing down the hall with a swift movement of her hand as Keith disappeared inside the room.

It was so easy to breathe when he was inside those four walls, so easy to just be and let himself strip of all the thoughts that scratched at the back of his head. It was so easy to focus on the outline on the bed, on the soft breaths that were pouring on the pillow. Relief spread through Keith’s veins, a tsunami that threatened to drown him and left him trembling in place, left him staring at her curled from over the bed, peaceful and so, so right.

He was already there before he knew it, sitting on the edge of the bed and leaning towards her with urgency, watching the chubby curve of her nose and the loose grip of her hands over the sheets. It felt like a miracle, to sit there and know that he had done something right.

“Hey, princess,” he whispered, pressing his cheeks against her shoulder to card his fingers through her curls.

She mumbled something, sleepily, and Keith smiled, leaning closer to hear her better. The scars on her hands caught his attention, and he eyed them with disgust, feeling so fiercely protective of her— like the time he found her, like the time he promised himself she would have the childhood he had never had. Tiny arms sneaked onto his shoulders, catching him and trapping them there, defenceless before the assault of soft, sleep-warm kisses that dropped onto his skin.

_ This,  _ he thought,  _ this is what I’m fighting for. _

“Welcome home,” she said, eyes still closed as she nuzzled against Keith’s cheek, hands tightening on his locks.

“Hello, Monique,” he whispered, allowing her to pull him beneath the sheets with impatient hands. He chuckled, kissing her forehead as he laid down, immediately melting against the mattress.

They should get home. He should get up and carry Monique in his arms to their apartment, but the door seemed so far away, the ground a vertiginous distance from the pillow. This felt like home, too; the faint scent of vanilla in the air, the way Monique’s arms tightened around him as she curled on herself, cheek pressing against his chest to feel his heartbeat.

This was home, too, Keith thought, closing his eyes and curling closer to Monique.

“Did you have fun?” Monique murmured, fingers pressing rhythmically against his arm, keeping herself awake by acting out the piano piece that Breta was teaching her.

Keith hummed, pretending to think, and dropped another kiss against her forehead, breathing in. There were no scars there, only soft skin, and the growing imagination of what every child should have. Of what Monique would always have.

“It would have been better with you there,” he said, suffocating the image of Jaime punching the stall in favour of hearing Monique’s delighted giggling.

She tilted his head to look at Keith with whiskey eyes, to quieten Jaime’s sobs inside his head with the dimples on her cheeks. He sighed, tightening his hold on her as he twirled her curls in between his fingers.

“Did you talk with Lance?”

And it was in moments like this that not telling Lance felt so difficult, so physically  _ painful  _ his whole body throbbed with the buried need. The mere thought of picking up the phone to hear his voice, to explain everything and tell him about Monique kissed goosebumps into his skin.  _ She adores you,  _ he wanted to say into the phone, against his lips, a _ nd I’m so in love with you. Please, we want you here. _

He had promised Lance he would show him, would explain what had happened in his life when they had been apart. He had promised it when he was so alone it hurt, when it felt like he couldn’t belong to this world anymore and now, still feeling lost and heartbroken, he realised that he couldn’t tell him. Couldn’t expose him to the shattering of his bones when he wanted him happy and safe, and so, so  _ loved  _ he would feel his heart beating throughout his body.

He couldn’t burden Lance, even when it was killing him to carry this weight alone.

“A little bit,” he answered, biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself in check, already knowing what she wanted. “Why?”

She fidgeted for a moment, looking to the side, to the way her fingers drew against Keith’s shirt before looking back at him, brows drawn up with eagerness. “Do you have more pics of him?”

Keith chuckled, a light sound that filled with room with its fragility. Monique melted against him, feeling the vibration against her frame and watching with saddened eyes the shadows beneath Keith’s, the constant pinch in his eyebrows. She had taken a liking of asking Keith for his phone and going through his phone, staring at Lance’s profile and the depth of his eyes before turning it into a painting. It was habit by now, to look at Lance’s selfies when she was bored, when she wanted to draw.

When she wanted to make Keith feel better.

“You really like him, don’t you?” Keith asked, hugging her and scratching the nape of her neck with his fingers.

“He’s so pretty! And his eyes look like the ocean!” she knocked her fingers against Keith’s back, hugging back, before growing quiet, words almost too soft for Keith to hear. “And it makes you happy.”

Keith couldn’t explain why tears stung his eyes at the words. He also couldn’t explain how he could love someone so much, in such a short time, how he would give up his life in a heartbeat just to keep her safe.

“I want to meet him,” Monique murmured, closing his eyes against the beat that knocked against Keith’s chest, following it into a sleep full of dreams.  

“Soon,” Keith whispered, and kissed her hair to suffocate the lie with her scent. “I promise.”

 

* * *

 

It was when Monique had fallen asleep, breathing quietly against his chest that he caved in, fingers dipping into the pocket of his pants to curl around his phone. He didn’t check the hour, just touched the screen over Lance’s name to call him, to hear his voice and stop feeling like the walls were caging him.

“Keith?” came Lance’s voice, lovely and sleepy, slurring his name until Keith’s toes curled in response.

“Hey,” he whispered, tightening his hold around Monique, and brushing the image of Lance lying with them with his fingertips.

_ I miss you so much. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, writing Keith: how are you still alive love
> 
> As always, comments are immensely appreciated and are the light of my days ♡♡
> 
> You can find me on twitter and tumblr, both @warmybones! Shoot me a message if you want! I don't bite, I just cry about these boys ♡


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